


Debts, Dates and Denial

by alassenya



Series: Charlie and Rory [1]
Category: Lost, Urban Ghost Story (1998)
Genre: Glasgow toughs, Loan Sharking, M/M, Manchester, Monaboyd, Musicians, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 84,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alassenya/pseuds/alassenya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unbeknown to the others, Liam has landed the band in a mess.  As usual, it's his younger brother Charlie who ends up paying the price for Liam's sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Originally posted at LiveJournal from April to September 2005.  
> 2\. Thanks go to Canciona and Suemichave for beta help, and to Acroamatica for encouragement and permission to use some of the STOF material.

_Friday 09 July 2005_

He was out there again - the small man with the short hair and the loud shirts and the "don't fuck with me" attitude. Charlie had seen him around a couple of times recently and thought he looked interesting, as well as very attractive. He'd even tried to catch his eye once or twice, to see if he'd like to have a chat or a beer (or maybe something a little more intimate, if he turned out to be that way inclined), but the man had always seemed to disappear, though Charlie swore he'd seen him talking - or rather, arguing - with Liam the previous week. 

Tonight, he was standing towards the back of the pub, the hard expression on his face augmented by the two men standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder. Charlie glanced over that way once or twice - well, maybe a few times - and wondered what he wanted, what he'd planned, and why he needed the henchmen, if that's what they were. It's what they looked like. 

Liam was concentrating on his guitar and his singing, rarely looking beyond the small space that passed for a dance floor in this pub, not even at the really pretty blonde who was sitting with some friends a couple of tables in front of the small man. That was distinctly unusual - Liam always checked out the pretty girls. Charlie wondered again what the small man wanted, and why Liam was trying to avoid him. 

They finished the set without much hassle, and their few fans - or groupies, in Liam's case - clustered around them as they started to pack up. Charlie had relaxed when the small man had disappeared at the end of the set, so he was caught by surprise when the one of the henchmen - the dark-haired one - appeared at Liam's shoulder. 

Liam gave a smile and a shrug and kissed each of the pretty girls on the cheek. "Gotta see a man about some business," he quipped, as he followed the man behind the bar and into the office area, but Charlie thought the laugh had sounded a little forced. He quickly asked Patrick to finish packing his gear, and followed Liam into the office area. 

He knew there was something wrong the moment he walked through the door. There were three men standing in the office: the small man he had spotted before was standing in the centre of the room, looking very sharp in a dark suit, bright red shirt and gold necklace; and his two very large friends in rumpled suits and bruised knuckles. Liam was sitting on a small wooden chair and looked distinctly uncomfortable, his skin pale and slightly green in the harsh fluorescent light. 

One of the henchmen - who could be distinguished from his colleague only by his violently red hair - grabbed Charlie by the arm and tried to hustle him out of the room, but stopped when the small man spoke. 

"It's the brother. Let him stay. But get out there and don't let anyone else in." The voice sounded odd to Charlie - was it Irish or Scottish? 

Red nodded and left the room, drawing the door closed behind him. The dark-haired henchman placed a second chair beside Liam's, and gestured for Charlie to sit down. He hesitated, though - he wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he knew it wasn't going to be good. 

The small man was speaking to Liam. "Mr Pace, you've been avoiding me, and I don't like that. I don't like that at all. So I thought I'd arrange this quiet little chat, get everything sorted out. You want everything to be sorted out, don't you?" 

The voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the menace it held. Charlie could hear now that it was a Glasgow accent, but that wasn't exactly reassuring. Glasgow toughs were just as bad as Manc toughs, and possibly even more vicious. 

Liam nodded. Charlie wasn't quite so ready to agree. "Who are you? What do you want?" he asked, glad that he sounded more annoyed than scared. 

The small man looked at him with a gaze that could have frozen helium, and said, "You don't get to ask the questions here, lad. Sit down and shut up." He gestured to the chair. 

Charlie thought for a moment about protesting, but the small man's manner, and Liam's uncharacteristic quiet, made him bite back the words. With a resentful look, he sat down on the chair next to Liam. The dark-haired henchman moved to stand behind them, and the small man leaned back against the desk, fixing Liam with his eye. 

"Now, Mr Pace, in case you need me to refresh your memory, there's the little matter of the money you owe me. I expected, after last week, that you'd be anxious to pay me and avoid all this... unpleasantness. But here you are, another week behind. You disappoint me, really you do." 

Liam gulped. "I don't have it. 

"What about tonight's take? 

"We haven't been paid yet." 

The small man sighed, and walked over to the door, where he had a muffled conversation with the redhead, who promptly left to find the pub owner. 

"While Ken's getting your night's wages, I'll check your wallets." 

"Hey!" Charlie remonstrated, but the blond behind him pulled him up by the hair with one hand and fished the wallet out of his back pocket with the other. Charlie subsided, rubbing his head and muttering obscenities under his breath. Liam, by contrast, merely took his wallet out and handed it straight to the small man, who extracted the notes and counted them. 

"Twenty pounds." 

He looked over their heads at the dark-haired henchman, who showed him the pitiful handful of coins that was all that Charlie's wallet had contained. 

"Is that all you have?" 

Charlie felt embarrassed at having so little, and, as usual, became aggressive to cover it. "Look, I'm on the dole, OK? Forty pounds a week doesn't go very far." 

"Not exactly 'Lifestyles of the rich and famous', is it? The man shook his head in disgust. "Oh, let him keep it, " he told Chris, who returned the coins to the wallet and handed it back to Charlie, who snatched it with a scowl and put it back in his pocket. 

Ken returned in a couple of minutes with a slim wad of notes, which he handed to the dark-haired man, who handed it solemnly to the small man and returned to his vigil behind the chairs. 

"Three hundred pounds. Well, it's a start, but even with what you've just contributed, it's not enough. You know that, Mr Pace, I told you last time." 

"That really is all I have. And half of that band money isn't mine." 

The small man took out a notebook from his jacket pocket, and made a careful notation. He tucked the money into the notebook and put it back in his pocket. "Now, according to my calculations, you owe me three thousand, four hundred and twenty pounds, and I'm beginning to doubt that you'll be able to pay me." 

"Three thousand pounds?" Charlie shouted in indignation. 

"That's the miracle of compound interest, lad." The loan shark cast him a glacial look. 

"It's usury!" Charlie started up but was pushed back down onto the chair by the henchman. 

"I'm sure your t-teachers would be very happy to know you paid attention in Sunday School. Now shut the f-fuck up." He turned back to Liam. "Now, Mr Pace, how am I going to get my money?. Any ideas?" 

Liam didn't say anything. 

"I think Mr Pace needs a little encouragement, Chris." He nodded to the henchman, who leaned forward and gripped Liam's arm. With his other hand he started to bend the ring finger back, until Liam's face was contorted in pain and his body writhed, trying to relieve the pressure. 

"Getting any inspiration, Mr Pace?" 

"Fuck you! Argh!" His finger was bent back at almost ninety degrees, and Charlie was dreading the sound of snapping bones. 

"Think you're tough , do you?" The Shark lifted a finger and Chris relaxed the pressure slightly. Liam almost sobbed in relief. The Shark leaned forward and, with his index finger, slowly wiped away a bit of the thick eyeliner that Liam had applied that evening. "Pretty make-up, Mr Pace." He rubbed the kohl between finger and thumb, before taking a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his hands fastidiously. He returned the handkerchief to his pocket before he spoke again. "You one of those gender-benders, are you? Swing both ways? Lots of them in the music industry, I hear. Such a pretty mouth, too. Perhaps you'd prefer to pay in kind?" The grin that accompanied these words was feral and entirely humourless. 

Liam blenched and couldn't keep the revulsion from his voice as he spat "No!" 

Chris bent his fingers back further, until Liam was almost crying in pain. "Please!" he choked. 

"I need ideas, Mr Pace, not pleadings." 

"There isn't anything else!" 

"Two fingers, Chris." The henchman applied more pressure and Liam screamed. 

Charlie couldn't bear it any longer. "No! Please don't! I'll - I'll go down on you." 

There was a deathly silence in the room, through which the low hum of voices from the pub was heard. Charlie swallowed. He couldn't believe what he had just said. 

The Shark looked as shocked as Charlie. He blinked, then asked, "What did you say, boy?" 

Charlie swallowed again. Was he imagining it, or was there a hungry look in the man's eyes? "You - you said he could pay in kind. That's what you meant, isn't it?" 

The Shark gestured to the henchman, who relaxed his grip on Liam's hand but didn't let go, and took a step closer to Charlie. "I might have," he said, frowning. 

He looked Charlie up and down, and Charlie could feel himself blushing - _blushing!_ \- as if he were still a virginal fifteen - under the oddly-intense scrutiny. He felt two fingers under his chin, forcing him to look up. To his astonishment, he realised that the Shark's eyes were a clear jade green, absolutely beautiful, in a cold, hard, extremely dangerous sort of way. It gave him a rather odd feeling between his shoulder blades. 

The Shark ran a thumb over Charlie's lips and smiled as they parted automatically. "Well, lad. Are you offering?" he asked, almost disinterestedly. 

Charlie swallowed. He felt sick. "Only - only if you promise not to hurt him." 

"I don’t make that sort of promise." He considered it for a few seconds longer, then murmured, "Why not?" He looked over at Chris, who remained impassive at the sudden change in his boss's mood, and jerked his head towards Liam. "Take him outside. Keep him quiet. I'll be..." - he looked down at Charlie - "I'll be ten minutes." He dropped his hand but otherwise remained motionless in front of Charlie until the henchman had hauled Liam, protesting, out of the room. 

"Well, boy?" 

Charlie looked up. The Shark was unbuckling his belt. 

"Get on your knees, then. Show me something worth a hundred pounds." 

Charlie slid off the chair onto his knees and shuffled the half-step forward until he was directly in front of the mans' crotch. The man had undone the waist button but nothing more. Charlie hesitated a couple of seconds, then glanced up. The man's face was closed, unrevealing. 

"Get on with it. I haven't got all night." 

Charlie reached up and pulled down the zipper, spreading the fly open to reveal black silk boxer shorts. He drew down the elastic waistband and lifted out the man's cock, which stirred and started to harden at his touch. It smelled clean, at least, with a hint of citrus and spice in whatever soap or aftershave he used. Charlie ran his hands over and around the growing erection, not sure how to begin. 

_You can do this,_ he told himself. _You've been down on plenty of guys before, it's just the same. Just the same._

"Hurry up, lad, I haven't got all night." 

Charlie nodded, and brought the now-hard prick up to his lips. He extended his tongue and licked the tip, noting how the man jerked in response. He swirled around the head a few times then opened his mouth and took it in. It was a good size - not the thickest he'd ever seen, nor the longest, but more than he'd expected from the short man. He moved back and forth, slowly, taking in more and more of the length each time, until he felt the head slide into his throat, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to Richard Jameson, who had spent several weeks in his first year at uni teaching him how to deep-throat. 

_Oh, Richard, I wish you hadn't left, he thought. I wish this was you._

He closed his eyes. He'd gone down on strangers before - in clubs, at parties - but only the ones he fancied. He'd just have to pretend that he fancied this guy. He could do that for once. Just this once. 

He licked his way from base to crown, letting his tongue slide around the head, flicking the sensitive spot just... there, taking the whole length in again, reaching in with one hand to caress the man's balls, working his throat around the head, letting his teeth make brief contact with the skin as he withdrew again, then plunging down and sucking hard. Tonguing, swallowing, humming... every trick he knew, everything he could think of, he used on this stranger. 

It seemed to take forever, and his knees were hurting, but finally, he felt the Shark start to shudder and he tensed as the man ejaculated into his mouth. He swallowed the bittersweet substance convulsively, anxious to be rid of its taste, but held the man's dick in his mouth until he had finished. Then he drew back and let the now-limp shaft fall away from his lips. He glanced up at the Shark, who was standing with his head tilted back and eyes closed. With no instructions to the contrary, he replaced the man's cock in his boxer shorts, zipped up the fly and buckled the belt. Only then did he rock back on his heels and look up again. 

This time the man was staring down at him, his expression still inscrutable. Charlie thought of standing up, but didn't like to do so without permission, so he waited for the verdict. 

The man nodded, and said. "Not bad. Acceptable." He gestured to the chair, and Charlie felt a sense of relief wash over him as he scrambled up. Liam's fingers wouldn't be broken. They'd still be able to play and get the money for the next payment. He wouldn't have to explain to his Mum and Dad just how completely fucked-up their life had become. 

The Shark strolled over to the door and left without another word. 

A minute later Liam was back, incredulous and gabbling. "You did it. I don't believe you did it." He laughed and tried to hug his brother, but Charlie slapped his hand away in irritation, and gave him a shove for good measure. 

"No thanks to you, you stupid cunting arsehole. I just had a complete stranger's dick in my mouth because you fucked up. _You_ fucked up. Who the fuck was that, anyway?" 

"Look, it was for the band-" 

"Who was he, Liam? I'm guessing he's not a DriveShaft fan." 

"Charlie - " 

"Don't you fucking _Charlie_ me. Who was he? And how did you end up owing him so much money?" 

Liam rubbed his finger, trying to ease the aching tendons. "His name's Rory McManus. They call him The Shark. He's a debt collector, moneylender. He's... he's known for being a bit... umm... enthusiastic about his work." 

"No shit, Sherlock." 

"Yeah, well... I missed a couple of payments at the music store." 

"How come? It wasn't that much money. You said we were paying it off easy." 

"Yeah, well, that was before the Treble, wasn't it." 

"What?" 

"The Treble. You know, Manchester United." 

"I know what the fucking Treble, is I just don't see what it's got to do with the music store. Or our amps." 

"Well..." Liam hesitated. "You know how Bob Johnson's such a rabid Man U fan." 

"Yeah, so what? There are a few of us around." 

"Well... I bet him double or nothing." 

"What?!" 

"I bet double or nothing against Man U." 

It took a few seconds for the words to sink into the Charlie's brain, and even longer for the meaning to register. Then the shock - the staggering, overwhelming, incomprehensible shock - was replaced by a surge of anger so primal that he literally felt it wash over him. He had to let it out somehow, and shoved Liam so hard he staggered backwards. "You fucking idiot! You stupid bollocking shit-for-brains cunting prick! How the fuck could you even imagine they wouldn't win?" 

"Fuck off! It wasn't a foregone conclusion." 

"Yes, it fucking was!" 

"Jesus, Charlie, calm down a minute. Not everyone lives and breathes Man U. OK?" 

"No I fucking well won't calm down! I just can't believe you're so stupid! You - you-" he broke off, too upset to continue. 

"Charlie. Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. But it was too good an opportunity to pass up. We might have got the amps for next to nothing if it had gone the other way." 

Charlie took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He was still incredulous that anyone could have bet against his beloved team - it was simply unthinkable. They'd made history that night - winning the Premier League, the FA Cup and the European Cup, all in the space of eleven days. They couldn't not have won. It was fate, it was destiny, it was karma. He shook his head and tried to take in what Liam was saying now. 

"Look, I thought it would be all right - I mean, we bought everything there, and Bob's always been pretty cool with the payments. He knew we'd pay him, eventually." 

Charlie frowned as something tickled his memory... "Hang on, though - he's retired." 

"Yeah, he retired." 

"And?" 

"And the new owner didn't want outstanding debts... so he sold them all to McManus." 

"He what?" 

"He took all the debts, and McManus bought them." 

"How can you buy a debt?" 

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Charlie, didn't you watch any gangster films? McManus pays the store owner the amount he was owed, so the store owner's happy. Then McManus goes around all the people who owed money and tells them that they have to pay McManus now, not the store. Only the interest rate's a lot higher, and McManus does nasty things to people who don't pay up. So most people pay up really fast, and McManus is happy." 

"And you didn't." 

"I couldn't pay it all. You'd just lost your job, and the rent went up, and we had a few weeks without gigs. I paid what I could, but I couldn't pay off the principal. And then the weekly payments went up, and I couldn't pay all of that, not at the end of the month, and it just kept getting bigger and bigger..." his voice trailed off. 

"Fucking hell." 

They were silent for a few minutes. Charlie started pacing around the small room. "So what do we do now?" 

Liam shrugged. "Look, it's just a setback. We've got more gigs coming up, and you're still looking for a job. We'll get back on top of things soon, then we'll be right." 

"Oh, Christ, Liam, it's not going to work out like that." He kicked at legs of the desk. "We'll have to tell the others. Club together, see what we can sell off to raise the money." 

Liam shook his head. "We can't tell them What's the point, anyway? They haven't got anything worth selling except the band's gear, you know that. And I'm the only one with a job at the moment." 

"Could we ask Dad to lend us the money?" 

"What? Mister _Neither-a-borrower-nor-a-lender-be?"_ Liam shook his head. "He wouldn't do it - not for the band. He'd look at us and tell us that we've learned a valuable lesson, and give us the money, and then he'd take every bit of gear we've got. He'd bail us out and kill DriveShaft in one go. And he'd bring it up every time we go home for the next twenty years." 

Charlie nodded, morosely. He loved his Dad, he really did, but the elder Mr Pace had a mania about debt that dated back to the seventies, when interest rates were 18 percent and even wealthy people had trouble with mortgages. He'd never allow them to go into debt if they had assets to sell. 

Liam thumped the wall. "I won't let him do that. I've spent years on this band, Charlie. I'm not going to let it go just like that." 

"We have to tell the others though. 

"No." Liam was adamant. "I'll think of something." 

"Christ, I need a drink," Charlie muttered, but there was no way he could afford one. And he could hardly ask Liam now, which made him feel even worse. He kicked at the leg of the desk until it started to shudder. "Oh, well, I guess there's nothing much we can do tonight. I'll go back and finish packing up." 

Liam nodded. "Anyway, we'll be right for a couple of weeks. Gig tomorrow, gig Wednesday - we'll have plenty for next week." 

"And what about the week after that?" 

Liam shrugged. "Something will turn up. Always does." He couldn't resist giving Charlie a teasing smile. "Maybe McManus'll take a liking to you and -" 

"No fucking way!" Charlie grabbed a handful of Liam's shirt and pinned him against the wall. "You'd better have the money next week, Liam. I don't care where you get it from. Just don't expect me to do that again, 'cause I won't. D'you hear? Not ever." He shoved his brother away and headed for the door. 

"It wasn't that bad, was it? Not like you hadn't done it before, is it? I never thought it would be _useful,_ having a faggot for a little brother. Piece of luck. I reckon." 

"Bloody hell, Liam, that's not the point!" 

"Well, what is the point?" 

"The point is that I just - I just _prostituted_ myself to save your fingers from being broken, and you treat it like a joke!" 

"Hey, Charlie, I'm grateful, I really am." Liam held up his hands. "I and all my fingers thank you." But he couldn't keep the smirk off his face, and Charlie turned away, disgusted. 

"Yeah, well, I'm going to get my gear." He strode out of the door and down the narrow corridor to the public bar. 

  


_Thursday 15 July_

"...Four-fifty, five, five-fifty, six hundred. Well done, Mr Pace." 

"I suppose it'd be asking too much to get a receipt?" 

"You suppose right. Don't worry, though, it'll all be noted down correctly. We keep very good accounts here. 

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." 

"Same time next week, Mr Pace." 

"Whatever." 

  


_Thursday 22 July_

"You got the money, Liam?" 

"Yeah, I've got it. I'll drop it in at lunchtime." 

"Don’t forget." 

"Don't worry, little brother. Your arse is safe." 

"Don't bloody joke about it, you cunt." 

"Temper, temper. See you later." 

"Yeah, right." 

  


_Friday 23 July_

Charlie was glad to be home early for once. The gig hadn't been great, but the band had had a couple of drinks afterwards, and Patrick had given him a lift home (Liam having disappeared with the usual pretty blonde), so it wasn't a total loss. Charlie was in quite a good mood as he propped the guitar against the wall and unlocked the door of the flat. He didn't have much planned for the weekend - a nice lie-in (though it wasn't quite as much of a treat now that he didn't have much to do except lie-in), a bit of peace and quiet, maybe a chance to work on that scrap of melody that kept running through his head... 

He had no idea that anything was amiss until he saw the light on in the lounge, and even then his first thought was that Liam had changed his mind and come home early. 

"Are you home already, Liam?" he called as he put the guitar case down. "What's the matter, did she turn out to be a dyke or something?" 

There was no answer, and he stepped through into the lounge, only to see the Shark - Rory McManus - standing in front of the bricked-up fireplace. The dark-haired man was beside him while the redhead appeared from behind the door, cutting off Charlie's escape. 

"What are you doing here? How did you get in? Hey, watch it!" he expostulated, as the redhead (Ken, his name was Ken, Charlie recalled) manhandled him across to the sofa and threw him down. 

"Hello, Charlie," said McManus, the voice menacingly calm. "Where's Liam?" 

Charlie's stomach did a somersault. "I don't know. He left with someone after the gig." 

"I'm sorry I missed it. I wanted to have a little chat." McManus' voice was gentle, but Charlie wasn't fooled. This was definitely not a social call. 

"We have a little problem, Charlie. Liam owes me money." 

"But he paid you yesterday!" Charlie almost jumped up in indignation, but McManus dealt him a harsh slap across the cheek, and he fell back into the chair, his eyes smarting. 

"Don't fucking c-contradict me! Liam missed the p-payment yesterday. Out of the sheer goodness of my heart, I decided to give him an extra twenty-four hours, but he still hasn't paid. Where is he?" 

"I don't know. But he had the money, I saw it! He left here yesterday morning and he was going to give it to you at lunchtime. That's what he told me, I swear!" 

"But he didn't give it to me, Charlie, otherwise I w-wouldn't be here, now, would I?" 

"But I asked him! I said, did he make the payment, and he said yeah, no problem. I don’t know what happened. Honestly, I don't." 

The Shark reached over and took a handful of Charlie's hair, twisting it painfully. "You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?" 

"No, no. Wouldn't lie to you. Ouch! That hurts." He squirmed in the chair, trying to ease the pain, but McManus just pulled harder and Charlie found himself rising out of his seat. 

"It'll hurt a lot more if I don't get my money." He gave a final, vicious twist that brought tears to Charlie's eyes, then let go and straightened up. "Search the place. Anything of value, bring it in here." 

Charlie waited, feeling sick, while the two henchmen ransacked the small apartment. There was little of value to start with, and after ten minutes the small pathetic pile in front of the Shark comprised one battered TV, one CD player (Liam's), a few CDs (mostly pirated from friends), an old acoustic guitar (Charlie's), and a few silver rings (all Charlie's). Ken added Charlie's bass guitar to the pile, and Charlie started to protest, but subsided after another backhander, this time from Chris. 

"This is all?" asked McManus, his voice showing mild disappointment. "Not very much, is it? Not n-nearly enough." He sighed. "Take it downstairs, put it in the back. The guitars might fetch something, at least." He looked back at Charlie, who was sitting with his fist pressed up against his mouth, trying desperately not to let the tears fall out of his eyes. 

_I'm going to die,_ he thought. _They're going to beat me up and kill me, and my dismembered body will be found in the canal, or under the motorway, or at the bottom of a construction site._ He found himself praying, and his hands twitched, as if he were holding a rosary. _Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..._

"Tell your brother that this was his last chance. I'm not a fucking charity, d'you hear? That heap of junk will barely cover the week's payment, and I'm still owed the principal, ye ken? Three thousand six hundred pounds. I want that money, Charlie." 

Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak. McManus came closer, one hand on his belt buckle, and Charlie almost whimpered. _Oh God. I can't - I just can't go down on him again, I can't, I can't, I can't._ He hoped he wasn't saying it out loud. The man raised his hand, and Charlie flinched, expecting another blow, but the man merely ran a finger over his reddened cheek, then down his jaw and neck in a parody of tenderness, making him shudder. 

"By rights," said the man in a soft voice that Charlie found, to his dismay, perversely attractive, "by rights I should mark that pretty face of yours, let him see what happens to those he loves when he can't meet his obligations... but I think he’ll get the message. Make sure he does." He flicked Charlie's nose and smiled, and Charlie realised how he'd got his nickname. "If not, I'll find him, and I'll find you, and I'll make you pay. And if I can't find you, I'll find your mother and your sisters and your little brother, and make them pay instead. Someone will pay, do you understand? Someone always has to pay. Don’t you doubt that for one second." 

With that he was gone. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Saturday 24 July_

Charlie woke around midday, and stumbled into the bathroom, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired. It was hardly surprising that he hadn't slept well, nor that his dreams had featured McManus so prominently. What did worry him was that at least one of those dreams hadn't been a nightmare, judging by the evidence on his pyjamas. He'd lain in the bed for a few minutes, wondering how on earth he could find the man so attractive and so scary at the same time, but couldn't explain it. 

When he eventually wandered into the kitchen, he found a note on the table: "Gone to Jeff's. Back tomorrow night. L." Liam. He had obviously been and gone while Charlie was still asleep. For all Charlie knew, he hadn't even noticed that anything had been taken. 

Charlie swore, and screwed up the piece of paper before flinging it at the wall. 

  


_Sunday 25 July_

Charlie scuffed his shoes along the pavement as he drew near to his parents' house. Sunday lunch was always a good meal, but Charlie felt so sick he doubted he'd be able to enjoy any of it. He had spent most of the journey on the bus wondering if should move back home - it was obvious that he couldn't afford to continue in the flat, not if he didn't have a job, and even if he did, every penny would have to go towards paying back the loan. But the few months' freedom he'd had since Christmas made the prospect very unattractive - not to mention the fact that Bridget had moved into the room that used to be his and Liam's, and she would be very reluctant to give it back to him. 

Fuck Liam and his bloody ego! The old gear had been fine, even if it had looked a bit battered. They'd only needed a new amp to replace the one that had melted, not a complete system. If Liam had just done what he was meant to and got the amp they'd have been fine, but no, Liam had said they had to have gear that looked good for the video. So he'd got the gear and they'd done the video - in the bank where Patrick's Mum worked, and yes, it had seemed like a real giggle at the time, to film a music video through the bank's security cameras - and sent it out with their demo CD out to all the major record companies. Of course, they hadn't heard anything back yet, but Liam said it was early days yet, that record companies often took a few months to reply, and in the meantime they had this shiny new equipment that looked fantastic and was pulling the birds in at every gig. Which, Charlie thought, was fine for Liam, but birds didn't exactly cut it for Charlie, and he didn't think the new amps sounded any better than the old ones did, but he was only the bass player, wasn't he, so what did he know? He kicked at an errant stone in disgust and watched it skitter along the pavement. 

And now Liam had disappeared, and he had no money and no job and no fucking guitar, and if he was really unlucky he'd end up with no fingers when McManus caught up with them again. And he still missed Richard and he wished he hadn't dropped out of Uni, and his life was just turning to shit before his eyes. 

He slowed as he approached the house, and took a couple of deep breaths. His Mum would be worried if she saw him upset, and he didn't want that, he didn't want her to start asking questions. He had to appear as normal as possible today. 

He let himself into the house and tried to drum up a smile for Kevin, his youngest brother, who was on the stairs playing some sort of cops & robbers game with Brian from across the street. 

"Hi Charlie! Guess what?" he shouted as Charlie picked him up and twirled him around. 

"What, grub?" 

"I got a brand new game for my Nintendo! Star Wars!" he yelled happily, laughing as he landed back on the floor. 

"Did you, brat? Who gave you that?" 

"Tessa, of course." 

"Of course." Theresa, the older of his two sisters, had a part-time job at the John Lewis store in town, and often took advantage of her staff discount to get things for Kevin. Charlie didn't begrudge her the job, or Kevin his toys, not really, but he hated that his younger sisters were contributing more to the family than he was. 

He set his little brother down, ruffled his hair, and stepped over Brian, who was doing a not-very-convincing job of playing dead. In the lounge, his father was snoozing in his armchair, oblivious to the household noise, while the remnants of the Sunday papers lay scattered around him. Bridget was trying to tidy them up without waking him, and she smiled at Charlie as he walked past. In the kitchen, he found Theresa and his mother preparing the meal, chattering away with the radio on in the background. 

"Hi Mum," he said, putting his arms around her and giving her a tight hug. "How's my favourite woman in the whole world?" 

"Hello, Charlie, dear. I'm fine, love. How's yourself?" 

"Not so bad." He couldn't - wouldn't - spill his troubles here and now. He had to talk to Liam first. He let his Mum go and gave a far more perfunctory hug to Theresa. "Hi, Tess. Spoiling Kevin again?" 

"It was marked down." She sounded defensive, and Charlie wondered if she'd already got an earful from his Mum. 

"Now then, Charlie, don't start. You can set the table if you've nothing better to do." 

"All right. How many?" 

"Let's see, Tessa, Biddy, you, Kevin, Brian - his Mam's over visiting his Dad at the hospital today - and your Dad and myself. How many's that?" 

"Seven. What's wrong with Brian's dad?" 

"Oh, nothing serious, just a hernia operation. He'll be out of there tomorrow, I expect." 

Bridget handed Charlie the cutlery. "Isn't Liam coming?" she asked. 

Charlie shook his head. "He's away. Gone to Leeds. Bastard." 

"Language, Charlie." 

"Sorry Mum. I just needed to talk to him and he skipped off." 

"Why, Charlie, what's wrong?" 

Charlie took a deep breath. "Oh, nothing too bad. Brother stuff." He gave a bright smile and went to set the table, knowing full well that his mother's beady eye was fixed on his back. 

Lunch was lively with the two boys, but Charlie found it difficult to keep his attention on the conversations around him. He loved his family, he really did, but his mind was so caught up in the predicament he was in that he couldn't drum up much interest in the girls' anxiety over exam results - A-levels for Theresa, GCE for Bridget - or Theresa's plans for her gap year in Australia. 

He sat with his parents while Theresa and Bridget did the dishes, trying to make conversation, but it was difficult to talk to his father at the best of times, let alone when he was pre-occupied. His father thought him a fool for having dropped out of university the previous Christmas, and doubly a fool for having settled for a menial job in a take-away cafe just because it was convenient. While he'd had the job, Charlie hadn't minded so much, but then the café had closed in May, suddenly, and so far he hadn't been able to find anything that suited him or his meagre qualifications. 

When his mother returned to the kitchen for more tea, he found himself following her, leaning up against the counter while she filled the kettle. He knew she'd ask - she always did. What he didn't know was whether or not he wanted to answer her. 

She switched the kettle on and put fresh tea into the pot, then looked at him and asked, "What's the matter, love?" 

"Nothing." Obviously not, then. 

She sighed and enveloped him an a warm hug. "I won't press you, dear, but you look unhappy. Is it that you haven't got a job yet?" 

"Partly." He rested his head on her shoulder, wishing he were still ten years old and could climb into her lap. 

"Do you want to move home again? It can't be easy, trying to pay rent out of what you get each week." 

"You don't have the room anymore, Mum." 

"I'll always have room for you, Charlie, you know that. I could borrow that camp bed from Sally Fraser until your Dad can buy you a new one." She shook her head. "I told him it was a bad idea to sell your old beds, but you know what he's like. Always thinks he knows best." 

"Only Mums know best." 

"That's right, and don't you forget it." She pinched his cheek, lightly, and smiled. 

Charlie grinned back. It was very tempting to come back home to the warmth and safety of his family... but then he thought of what might happen if the Shark tracked him there, and what the man might do to them, and he knew he couldn't take the risk. Better to keep a safe distance. 

"Thanks, Mum, but I'll give it a few more weeks, see what else turns up." 

"All right, then dear, but don't ever think you won't be welcome here. Job or no job, you're my son and you belong with your family." She kissed his cheek and let him go. He gave a slightly sheepish smile, but had to admit that he felt a little better. 

"Now, then love, take this with you." She put twenty pounds into his hand. 

"Mum, I can't -" 

"Yes, you can. I won't have you starving yourself on that pittance they call a benefit. Get yourself some decent food, now, do you hear? You can pay me back when you're famous and earning millions." 

"Yes, Mum." He gave her a rueful smile as he took the money. He knew he ought to resent her implication that he couldn't manage, but he was too relieved to have the money to care. One day... he thought. _One day I'll get her a nice house and a car and a diamond necklace and a maid and a gardener._

One day. 

He was saved from an embarrassing display of sentimentality by Kevin, who came racing in to see if Charlie would play a bit of football with him and Brian. 

"Sure, half-pint. Get your ball and we'll go over to the park." 

"Great!" Kevin exclaimed, and raced back out the kitchen, yelling, "Brian, Charlie's going to take us to the park!" 

Charlie and his mother exchanged speaking looks. "I'll look after them," he promised. 

"I'm sure you will. And don't you dare spend a penny of that money on ice-creams if the van comes around! I have plenty for them in the freezer here." 

"Yes, Mum." He gave her a hug and a kiss and went to collect the boys. 

~~~~~ 

At half-past four Charlie brought the boys back: happy, exhausted, and covered in dirt from head to foot; and if his mother noticed the tell-tale smear of colour around their lips she didn't say anything, just sent them off to get washed and tidied up for tea. 

A couple of hours later, fed again and carrying a plastic container of leftover apple pie, he set off home - back to the flat, corrected himself. It was a long journey on the bus, and he had plenty of time to brood on Liam's betrayal and the Shark's visit. Inexplicably, though, he found himself thinking about the man's eyes - such a clear green, with curling lashes - and he wondered what he would have said to him if they'd met under normal circumstances, if they would have chatted, or had a beer, or... 

He reached home around eight, and put the precious apple pie in the fridge - it would do for dinner the next day if he could hold off that long. He walked into the living room and stopped dead. Under the current, decidedly far-from-normal circumstances, he shouldn't have been surprised to see Liam sitting comfortably on the sofa, reading a book, but he was. 

"Hello, lil'bro," said Liam, cheerily, but Charlie grabbed the book and threw it down, hauled him up by his shirt front and flung him across the room. Liam bounced off the wall, looking shocked. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, his hands going up to his head. "That hurt, dickhead." 

"Where the fuck have you been?" 

"I went to Leeds with John and Jeff. I told you I was going." 

"Yeah? Well there's something you forgot to tell me, isn't there? You forgot to tell me you missed another payment. You lied to me!" 

"Oh, that." 

"Yes, _that._ What the fuck happened?" 

"Well, I was just leaving, and I checked my wallet to see that the money was still there, and Mr Ramachandra came up and wanted the rent, and I had the money in my hand, and he just took it. There was nothing I could do. He just took it out of my hand." 

"Rama? But why'd he do that? It's not due until the first." Charlie looked puzzled for a moment, until he realised what had happened. "Oh, no, Liam. Tell me you didn't take the rent money as well. Tell me you didn't take the rent money to pay McManus. Oh, you did, didn't you! You stupid fuck, Liam!" 

"Well, I figured Ramachandra would give us a few weeks to make good. We've been late before." 

"Not three weeks late! Oh fuck, Liam, we're fucked. We're really fucked." 

"It's not that bad - 

"Not that bad? He was here, Liam. Here in this room, him and his two large friends. They took everything they could - the TV, the CD player, Ben's jacket, and my guitar - the bass and the acoustic. They took my guitar! How am I going to get it back before the next gig?" 

"Hey, I'm sorry-" 

"Sorry isn't good enough! You knew he'd come here to get the money, and you left me here without a word - you left me to face him on my own. I thought I was going to die, Liam, I thought he was going to kill me! You stupid fucking coward!" 

Charlie swung a punch at Liam, who blocked it. 

"Charlie! Stop! Fuck!" He swore as Charlie's next punch connected with his ribs. Suddenly it was as if they were teenagers again, fighting tooth and nail, clawing at each other, using fists and knees and teeth and elbows. 

"Look, Charlie, stop this," Liam panted. 

"Fuck you. I hate you!" Charlie had no time for discussion as he threw a knee into Liam's midsection and tried to dislocate his right elbow. He was angry, he was frustrated, he was scared for himself and their family, and he had to take it out on someone. 

"Charlie! That's hurts, you prick!" 

Liam managed to extract himself from Charlie's grip and threw a punch at his jaw. Though it connected with a _thud,_ it didn't deter Charlie at all. They fought on for some minutes, their verbal exchanges limited to grunts and expletives. Liam, always bigger, always stronger, was starting to get the better of it when Charlie managed to hook a leg behind his knee, and Liam overbalanced, falling against the raised hearth. He cried out in pain, and clutched his left arm to his chest. 

"Oh, fuck Charlie, it hurts. I think I've broken it." 

"You've tried that before, Liam, Doesn't fool me." 

"Not fooling," he gasped. "I really think it's broken." 

Charlie, panting, dropped to his knees and looked at Liam's left arm, which was already starting to swell. It was definitely broken. 

They stared at each other in horror. 

~~~~~ 

The emergency department was crowded, as usual. It seemed as if the entire city (or at least a decent-sized suburb) had suffered falls, lacerations, stab wounds and blows from assorted blunt instruments - and they were the ones who were upright. Children wailed, adults groaned and whimpered, and trolleys clanged against walls and doors. 

Liam and Charlie sat in the waiting room for three hours until an exhausted registrar ran a perfunctory hand over Liam's arm, checked the circulation, and wrote a request slip for an X-ray. 

"How much longer are we going to have to be here?" Charlie asked. 

The registrar turned a weary eye to Charlie as he handed the slip to the waiting nurse. "Not long. Lucky for you the radiographer's already in, or you'd have to come back tomorrow morning." He scribbled something in Liam’s notes and left the cubicle. 

The nurse escorted them down to the imaging department, where Charlie waited for half an hour as the radiographer took X-rays of Liam’s wrist. Then they were sent back to the emergency room for another wait. 

The registrar came back in and held the X-rays up to the light. "Undisplaced fracture of the distal ulna. The wrist bones look all right though." He jotted down some notes in Liam's file. "You'll get a slab tonight, but you should come back tomorrow and get a full cast put on. Then we'll get you an appointment with the fracture clinic." 

"Why can’t you put a full cast on now?" Liam asked. "Why do we have to come all the way back tomorrow?" 

The doctor sighed, and said, "Because the arm’s still swelling up and a full cast might restrict the circulation. By tomorrow afternoon the swelling will be close to its maximum – especially if you keep it elevated – and it’ll be safe to put a cast on." 

"How long will it have to be on?" 

"Three or four weeks, maybe longer. Depends. The clinic will tell you. You may need some physio afterwards. I'll get someone to apply the slab and then I'll check it before you go. You'll also need some painkillers - I've written you a script." He yawned, handed Liam a prescription and wandered out again. 

The brothers looked at each other. 

"Four weeks," breathed Charlie. 

"Plus physio." Liam looked glum. "And no telling how long it'll take before I can play guitar again." 

"Well, at least you _have_ a guitar." Charlie kicked the wall of the cubicle. He seemed to be doing a lot of kicking lately. 

Liam was muttering under his breath. "Three... four... five..." He paused. "Charlie, do you remember if that crap Irish pub confirmed for Thursday fortnight?" 

"No idea. Ask Patrick." 

"I'll have to. We’re going to lose at least five gigs. Shit. This is all your fault you know." 

"My fault? How the bloody hell can it be my fault?" 

"You’re the one who made me fall." 

"You’re the one who missed a payment and then skipped off for the weekend." 

"Wasn’t my fault Ramachandra took the money." 

"Well, if you hadn’t missed his payment he wouldn’t have taken McManus’s, would he?" 

"If you still had a job we wouldn't have been behind in the payments." 

"If you hadn't bet against Man U we wouldn't be in this fix." 

Liam fell silent, a tacit acknowledgment that Charlie was right. He stretched his legs, yawning. "Christ, I'm tired. How much longer are we going to be here?" 

"That was a rhetorical question, right? 'Cos I'm not exactly in charge here." 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, until Charlie spoke again. "Maybe we should tell Mum and Dad. They'd have to help." 

"Yeah, right, Charlie, that's a great idea. Let's tell Mum and Dad what you did to me. And while we're at it, we can tell them what you did for McManus the last time we missed a payment. I'm sure they'd love to hear about that." 

There was no mistaking the taunting note in Liam's words, and Charlie could feel his fists clenching in reflex anger. He had no doubt that Liam would twist it all around so that Charlie was the one at fault. Always Charlie the fuck-up, Charlie the one who couldn't get through Uni, couldn't get a decent job, couldn't get a girlfriend. Charlie the faggot. 

He turned and rested his forehead against the wall, the cool plaster soothing his aching head a little. It didn't help. He couldn't see any way out of their mess. It was either their parents or... 

"We'll have to call _him,_ then. Talk to him. Ask him for more time." It was the only other solution, and if he couldn't make Liam see that then they might as well slit their own throats and be done with it. 

"He'll kill us." 

"Not - not if we explain. Show him." Charlie tried to sound confident. "He can't argue with a doctor's certificate." He paused. "Can he?" 

"I have no fucking idea. Maybe we should just run away, go to London. If he can't find us-" 

"He knows where we live," Charlie cut in. "He knows about our family. If we disappear he'll take it out on them." 

"We don't know that." 

"Yes, we do. He told me." Charlie shivered a little as he remembered McManus' face. "He knows, believe me." 

"What do we do, then?" Liam seemed to be losing hope. 

"We have to tell him. He's going to find out, sooner or later, and it'll be better for us if we tell him first." Charlie tried again for a confident note, but from Liam's expression he could tell it wasn't working too well. "There really isn't any other option, you know that." 

Liam admitted defeat and nodded. "Tomorrow, then, after the fracture clinic." 

"Tomorrow." 


	3. Chapter 3

_Tuesday 27 July 1999_

It was a warm, sunny Tuesday afternoon, with no particularly ominous portents, which, as Charlie reflected later, only goes to show that omens are completely unreliable. He and Liam walked through the streets of Manchester city, heading for the loan shark's office at a pace that lay somewhere between anxious and reluctant. 

They should have done this the previous afternoon, but they hadn't got out of the fracture clinic until almost six o'clock, and so the dreaded visit to McManus had been postponed for another day. Neither of them had slept well, and Liam had rung in sick again, which hadn't pleased his employers at the real estate agency, but couldn't be helped. After getting up, and having breakfast, then stuffing around with plastic bags and Sellotape so that Liam could have a shower, and then finding out that it was lunchtime already, they had finally made their way into the city centre a little after three in the afternoon. 

Liam showed him where McManus's office was - a bright, cheery office building in the heart of the city, on Portland St. It was unnerving to pass respectable-looking accountants and lawyers and secretaries, knowing that they harboured a criminal in their midst. Well, Charlie thought, a different kind of criminal, anyway. They walked into the foyer, which was decorated - if that word could possibly apply - in chrome and glass. Charlie stopped to consult the directory on the wall, but Liam dragged him over to the stairs, saying, "I know where it is." 

They took the stairs up to the first floor and down a short corridor towards the back of the building. The sign on the door read, simply, "McManus & Son". Inside, there was little indication of the type of business transacted by the firm: no glossy posters on the walls, no bright logos or smiling staff members; just a few brochures in a holder that described various cleaning and maintenance services - "for all your office and domestic requirements". Otherwise, it was a plain office reception room, with one desk, a fax machine, a filing cabinet, and several hard chairs. The walls were a non-descript grey, the carpet an even more non-descript blue, and the chairs were a motley group of ages, styles and dull colours. All in all, it was the most bland and forgettable office Charlie had ever seen. 

He wondered if McManus had ever thought about brightening the place up - after all, a coat of paint and a picture or two wouldn't cost a lot - and suddenly the nervousness he felt at the imminent confrontation was made ten times worse by an insane desire to turn into a camp interior decorator and waffle on about improving the atmosphere with walls of soothing avocado green contrasted with luscious peach, complemented by the most adorable dado in complementary floral tones. He pressed his lips together and tried to imagine the adorable dado splattered with his and Liam's blood. That seemed to help. 

The large dark-haired man - Chris, the one who had backhanded Charlie four days ago - sat at the desk, typing something into the computer with surprising dexterity. He looked up as they entered, and his eyes flickered in recognition. 

Liam cleared his throat but kept his arms folded across his chest, the loose sleeve of his jacket hiding the cast. "We - we're here to see Mr McManus." 

"Do you have an appointment?" the man asked. He looked suspiciously at Liam's folded arms, and Charlie realised that he was checking them out in case they had a weapon. He dropped his hands, then nudged Liam, who did likewise, revealing the cast. 

"No," said Liam, lifting his left arm up to display the cast. "We just have to see him. Um... we have to explain this to him." 

Chris said nothing, but rose and made his way into the adjoining office. They heard voices, which sounded as if McManus wasn't too happy, and Charlie wondered if he would refuse to see them. Still, Chris must have persuaded him, since he opened the door and waved them forward. 

The inner office was only slightly more attractive than the outer one, but at least it had a larger window that looked down onto the street and allowed the sun (when not obscured by cloud) to cast some light on the otherwise plain furnishings. There were two hard chairs in front of the desk, and Charlie and Liam sat down there. Chris retreated to stand in front of the door, preventing their escape - he must have had some fairly nervous customers at times, Charlie thought. McManus looked grim, and Charlie could tell that he was in a bad mood. It didn't augur well for their predicament. 

"Well, Liam, Charlie," he nodded at each of them. "Chris tells me you have something to say to me. I'm a very busy man and this meeting has disrupted my routine, so you'd better be quick. 

Slowly, Liam uncrossed his arms, revealing the cast. "I’ve broken my arm." 

"So. It's broken. And why are you bringing your medical problems to me?" 

Well," Charlie said, "he can't play guitar with his hand in plaster." McManus raised an eyebrow, and Charlie went on. "So we can't do any gigs, so we can't get the extra money. But don't worry," he added, hurriedly, "as soon as he's out of plaster we'll be back in the pubs and pulling in loads of dosh. If I can borrow a guitar, that is." 

McManus closed his eyes, as if a feeling of great weariness had descended upon him. "Lads," he said, very quietly, "I am not a charity. I am not interested in your excuses or your appointments or your piss-poor excuse for a band. What I am interested in is my money. When am I going to get it?" 

"In a couple of weeks?" ventured Liam. Some evil genius prompted him to add, "Unless you want it in kind again, in which case Charlie will-" but he never completed the sentence, as Charlie was out of his seat with his hands around Liam's throat before either McManus or Chris could move. 

"You fucking cunt! Don't you dare! Don’t you dare suggest that!" He was blind with rage and fear, almost hysterical, and it took Chris several seconds and considerable effort to haul him off his brother. Eventually, though, he stopped struggling, and Chris dropped him back into his seat. Charlie sat there, chest heaving, eyes downcast, while Liam ran his right hand over his bruised neck. "Sorry about that, Mr McManus," he began smoothly, "Charlie has a bit of a temper." He lifted his cast. "That's how I got this, by the way." 

"Arsehole," muttered Charlie, looking daggers at Liam. 

McManus looked at them both, startled by the unexpected violence, then got up and slammed his hands down on the desk. "Do you t-take me for an idiot? Do you think you can play games with me?" he shouted. "I think you're trying it on, both of you. I don't b-believe that arm's broken at all." He beckoned Chris with a jerk of his head. "Break his other arm. Break them both. And his legs." 

"No! No! Liam cried out as the big man grasped hold of his arm. "It really is broken. I have the note from the hospital." 

"Show me." McManus nodded to Chris, who relaxed his hold, and came around to the front of the desk to stand over Liam as he reached into his jacket and brought out the X-ray request form and the appointment slip for fracture clinic. 

"I have to have the cast for another four weeks, and then physio." 

McManus took the forms and looked at them grimly before handing them back. "I don’t like having to repeat myself, lad, but I will just this once. I d-don't care about your arm. I don't care about you. I want my money and I want it soon. Now, if you can't provide that money for me, I'm going to have to get it from someone else. Someone near and dear to you." 

Charlie felt his heart sink and his stomach heave, and he had to grip the arms of the chair tightly to stop himself from bolting. He didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to hear McManus making the same threats he had made the previous Friday, but McManus continued, inexorably, his voice cold and implacable. 

"You know how easy it is for accidents to happen these days, lads. It would be a horrible thing if your little brother fell off his bicycle, or a mugger came across your Mum leaving work on a dark night, now, wouldn't it? Yet these random acts of violence happen all the time in modern cities, and so many of them go unsolved and unpunished." 

"You bastard!" Charlie spat out, but Chris's heavy hand on his shoulder prevented him from getting up. 

"Any more of that, lad, and you'll be nursing a few broken bones yourself." McManus warned. "Or your little brother will. Fine boy he is, young Kevin, from what I hear. Apple of your mother's eye, and all that. Don't you agree, Liam?" 

Liam was almost cowering in his seat, but Charlie resolutely stared straight ahead, until he realised that he was looking directly at the McManus's crotch. He looked up instead, into jade-green eyes, and to his shame he found himself pleading with the loan shark. 

"Please," he said, "please don't hurt Kevin. Or Mum, or anyone in the family. They don't have anything to do with this. There's no reason why they should ever know. All we need is a little more time. I can get a job." 

"A job." McManus looked sceptical. 

Charlie blinked away a tear, desperate for McManus to believe him. "I sign on tomorrow anyway - I'm sure there'll be something available. If the band isn't playing, maybe I can get a factory job, shiftwork - that would pay a bit more. I'll do anything, anything, just give us more time." 

The jade-green eyes stared back at him, but he couldn't read the expression in them. He wasn't sure if it was desire or shame or hunger or self-loathing. Right then, though, all he'd seen was that it wasn't anger, and that was an improvement from a few minutes earlier. 

"Anything?" McManus leaned closer, his face just inches away from Charlie's - close enough that Charlie could feel the man's breath on his cheek. "Well then, lad, _anything_ gives us a bit of scope now, doesn't it? _Anything_ could include ways to pay off some of that debt that you might not otherwise consider." McManus gave a wolfish grin - no, a sharkish grin - Charlie corrected himself - as he straightened up and leaned back against the desk. "Are you sure you mean _anything?"_

Charlie felt a cold lump of dread in his stomach, but nodded. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like whatever McManus said next. 

"How long are you in plaster for?" McManus asked Liam. 

"Four weeks, maybe a bit longer. Then physio." 

"Call it five. That takes us up to the end of August." He paused, as if to reassure himself that he had the full attention of his audience. He did: both brothers were looking up at him earnestly, and Charlie was wracking his brains trying to work out what McManus was going to say next. He wasn't even close. 

"I'll make you an offer, lads. I’ll take Charlie’s services in lieu of your payments for five weeks, until 31st of August. He’ll be at my beck and call, he’ll do what I say, when I say, where I say, and he’ll do it without complaint. If he’s really good, I may even take off some of the principal. Or you can come up with the money by Friday." He stood there with a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched their reactions. 

The silence in the room stretched to breaking point. No one spoke, no one moved, until - 

"All of it." 

Charlie's voice was shockingly clear. 

"What? Charlie, you're not serious, are you?" It was Liam, incredulous, but he was ignored as McManus and Charlie stared at each other. 

"All of it." Charlie repeated, his eyes locked with McManus, and he felt the nervousness recede. McManus wanted him. This wasn't just another way to frighten him into coming up with the money. McManus _wanted_ him, and the knowledge gave him confidence. He took a deep breath, feeling calmer now, more in control of the situation than he had been in days. "I want the whole debt wiped out – all the interest, all the principal." 

"You have a very high opinion of your worth, lad," said McManus, the slight huskiness in his voice betraying his interest. 

Charlie took advantage of it. "Five weeks. I’ll be your rent boy for five weeks, do whatever you say, whatever you want… but only if it covers the whole of the debt. Otherwise I won’t do it at all." 

McManus said nothing, and Charlie, dropping his voice, continued, "You’ve sampled the goods already, you know I’m worth it. And I can do even better than that, believe me. But once the month is over, it's over. That’s it. The debt is paid in full, there is nothing more owed to you or the store. I go back to my family and you go back to terrorising the poor and under-privileged and we never see each other again." 

Liam had recovered from his shock and was now looking at his brother, his expression no longer incredulous but almost pleased, as if he'd got away with something - which, Charlie thought, wasn't too far from the truth. But Liam was a problem for another day. McManus had to be sorted now, before he started dragging the family into an already-bad situation. 

McManus walked back around to his own side of the desk, and looked out of the window for what seemed like forever, but was probably only about a minute and a half. 

Bluff and counter-bluff. It was a tricky situation, with far too many variables: Charlie, McManus, Liam, the band, their family, jobs, rent... 

Charlie tried to work out what he would do if the Shark took him up on his offer. Or if he didn't. Quite frankly, Charlie didn't know which he wanted less. He just knew he didn't want the family involved. 

Liam started fidgeting in his chair, picking at his nails and the rough edge of the plaster cast. 

Eventually, McManus turned back to face them and nodded. "Aye, all right. All of it. Charlie's at my disposal from now until 31st August. During that time he does whatever I tell him to do, he goes where I say and when I say. At the end of the period he goes back to his loving family and the debt is considered discharged, interest and principal." 

"Can I get that in writing?" Liam, of course, the stupid git. 

Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. "Fuckwit," he muttered. 

"Don’t be bloody stupid, boy." McManus was grimly amused. "You have witnesses – two of us and two of you. That will have to be sufficient." He looked at Charlie. "So, are we agreed?" 

Their eyes met, and Charlie could feel the hunger that the Shark was trying so hard to conceal. He felt as if he was falling into the ocean - a green ocean, an arctic ocean, cold and bitter and dangerous - and it was exhilarating. 

"Yeah," he said, his voice even deeper than before, "I’ll do it." 

They continued to look at each other for long seconds, neither wanting to give way. 

"That’s great," Liam chimed in, breaking the spell. "All settled then." 

McManus visibly forced himself back into business-like mode, saying, "Get out of here, then. Charlie, leave your mobile number with Chris before you go. You’ll be rung tomorrow with instructions." 

Charlie hesitated, his new-found confidence deserting him at this unexpected demand. "I- I don’t have a mobile phone." 

McManus pursed his lips and Charlie wondered if he was going to reneg on the deal. Do I want him to? He didn't know. 

"I’ll sort it out tomorrow, boss," he heard Chris say, and felt relieved. Back under control again. 

McManus nodded. He glanced at his diary and saw the entry for tomorrow evening. "Tomorrow evening, meet me at the Ypsilante bar in Mount St. Do you know where that is?" 

"Yeah, I know where it is." 

"Be there at 7pm." He nodded to Chris, who escorted the two brothers out of the office. 

They wasted no time in leaving the building, but once outside they stopped on the pavement and looked at each other. Liam couldn't hide his shit-eating grin. 

"Fuck, Charlie! Did you hear that? We did it!" 

"You did nothing, you stupid arsehole, except make things worse. As usual." 

"Hey, lil bro', what's wrong? You get yourself a boyfriend for the month and we get rid of the debt. Couldn't be sweeter." 

Charlie rounded on him, exasperated. "He is not my fucking boyfriend! And you have absolutely no idea what I'm going to have to do for the next month." 

"Yeah, well, I'm not a fucking pansy, am I, so of course I've no idea. And don't tell me, 'cos I really don't want to know." He threw an arm around Charlie's shoulders. "But thanks for saving my arse - quite literally!" he laughed. 

Charlie threw him off, feeling sick. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for Kevin and Mum and Dad. And the band. Now fuck off and leave me alone for a while, will you?" 

Liam shrugged, undismayed. "Suit yourself. I'll give Susan a ring, see what she's able to do for a poor wounded soldier." Grinning in anticipation, Liam strode off down the street, still oblivious to anything but his own personal interest. 

Charlie shook his head and turned to go off in the other direction. He had a lot to think about. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Wednesday 28 July 1999_

Charlie walked down the street from the bus stop towards the Ypsilante Bar. He checked his watch again - it showed a quarter to seven, so he had plenty of time. He brushed his sweaty palm on his trousers, wishing it weren't quite so humid. He was nervous, of course – he wasn't quite sure what McManus would want of him – but at least he was doing something and not just waiting. 

He hadn't been given any instructions on what to wear, but he'd never seen McManus in anything but a suit, so he chose to dress conservatively in a pair of navy-blue slacks and a white button-down shirt. He hoped McManus appreciated the gesture, because he felt as if he were on his way to church rather than a social gathering. A funeral maybe. Or not, if he played his cards right. 

In his pocket he had some condoms and lube. He had hesitated before taking them from his bedside table, but he'd told himself that he'd regret it more if he didn't have them, even if he hoped that he didn't need them, at least not tonight. He wasn't stupid enough to believe he'd survive the month without ending up on his back, but the longer it took to get there, the happier he'd be. Even if the Shark was an attractive man - pretty fit, even - he didn't like the fact that he couldn't walk away if he changed his mind. 

He shook his head slightly. He still couldn't believe he'd actually said he'd do this. It was unbelievable! Even if he had been pretty worked up at the time, it was by far the most stupid thing he'd done in years - more stupid, even than the time he'd been so desperate to get fucked that he'd gone cottaging after he'd been refused entry to four bars in one night. He'd been lucky, that time - a rather seedy forty-something had obliged, and he'd left the place a scant ten minutes before a plain-clothes copper had rounded up the loiterers. He wondered if his luck would hold for the month. 

He reached the Ypsilante Bar at last and walked through the glass doors into the bar itself. It was fairly quiet, which was only to be expected so early on a Wednesday evening, and he soon spotted McManus over at the far end of the bar, a glass of beer in his hand. He looked somewhat out of place in the brash décor - mirror panels, glass shelves, gold and chrome fittings - and not too happy either. Charlie hurried over to him, and, to his surprise, was greeted with a smile. 

"On time, that's good, and suitably-dressed, that's even better," said McManus, looking him up and down. Charlie smiled back automatically but quickly reminded himself that this arrangement was business, nothing more, and he would have to keep better control of himself during the weeks ahead. He swung himself up onto the adjacent barstool and looked at the display of available drinks. 

"Do you want something to drink?" asked McManus, after draining his glass. 

"I'll have a beer, thanks," he answered, hoping that the house beer was drinkable and not some Australian crap. 

McManus ordered two beers (Stella, thank God) and then asked him, "Have you been here before?" 

Charlie shook his head. "They don't have live music here, and it's a bit… out of my league." He took the glass of lager and drank, savouring the taste. It wasn't every day he got to drink a decent lager, not since he'd lost his job, and he was determined to enjoy it. He licked the foam from his upper lip and saw how McManus twitched in reaction. That was reassuring - he wasn't the only one who felt some attraction. Perhaps he could use that to his advantage. Perhaps he could talk the man into letting him have his guitar back, at least. 

"Aye, it would be at that," McManus answered, and Charlie had to think hard to remember what he'd said. "Not many students or starving musicians among this lot. Just a load of fucking yuppies with attitude." 

Charlie looked around at the bar's patrons, who were mainly men in business suits, with a few equally-sombre women scattered among them. A handful of giggling girls in a corner supplied a little colour, but otherwise it was depressingly dull. There was no sense of easy camaraderie that he had felt in the student bars he had frequented, or the few pubs that he went to with Liam and the band when they weren't working. Instead there was a hint of desperation, perhaps a fear that life was passing them by at breakneck speed, with no stops for sightseeing. 

"Is this your local?" he asked, hoping that it wasn't, hoping that they wouldn't be here for long. 

McManus snorted. "Fuck no. Do I look like I belong with this mob? No, I'm meeting someone here - business. It'll only take a couple of minutes, and then I'll be able to get back to _our_ business." 

"Oh, right," Charlie answered. He took another swig of beer and licked the foam of his upper lip again, only more slowly and deliberately, watching McManus through his lashes. This time, however, McManus's response was to grab hold of Charlie's shirt and pull him forward, almost knocking him off his barstool. 

"Don't you fucking try and tease me, lad, or I'll be taking steps to tame you that you won't like at all. Wipe that smirk off your face and drink your beer like a good boy." 

The unexpected bollocking shocked Charlie. He turned red and tried to hide his face, even though McManus had spoken in a low tone that no one else could have heard. He was about to mutter an apology when McManus looked over his shoulder and said, "Stay here, don't move, don't talk to anyone and try not to stare at me when I'm talking to the man." 

"OK, boss," he murmured. 

McManus hissed in exasperation but said nothing more as he walked away towards a tall, pale man with flaxen hair. They exchanged a cautious greeting and took a few steps over to one of the booths, where they sat down and began to speak in low tones that didn’t carry. 

Charlie settled himself more comfortably on the bar stool and tried to amuse himself by examining the array of bottles behind the bar and working out how many he'd sampled: it was a distressingly small fraction. The wall behind the bar was mirrored, and he discovered that if he turned slightly he could see McManus as he listened to something the pale man was saying. It was the first time he'd been in McManus's presence without being under observation himself, and he took the opportunity to take a good look at the man who was going to control his life for the next five weeks. 

He was neither tall – around five foot six, Charlie estimated – nor broad-shouldered, but he was well-proportioned. His hair was a fairly non-descript reddish brown, cut very short, which only emphasised that his hairline was starting to recede. It was hard to guess his age - anything between twenty-five and thirty-five - but easy to see the harsh background of the Glasgow tenements underneath his smart clothes and gold necklace. From this angle Charlie could see that McManus's nose was well-shaped with no bumps or curves – a far cry from his own squashed tomato of a nose, he thought. His ears were small and stuck close to his head, and he had no earrings or piercings. His eyes and mouth were partly obscured by the angle, but Charlie knew that he had clear green eyes and a delicate bow of a mouth. His hands – he could see McManus's right hand as it came up to take something from the pale man – his hands were small and beautifully-shaped, with well-kept nails. All in all, Rory McManus was a good-looking man, and the oddest thing about him was that while every feature begged the word "delicate", the overall impression was anything but that. McManus was tough and resilient, and it showed in his stance, in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his chin. 

Charlie looked at him and wondered again how they would have got along if they had met under other circumstances. McManus wasn't the type of man he usually went for – he preferred them taller, with strong shoulders and long legs and leather trousers – but there was something about him that had drawn Charlie in the first time he'd set eyes on him. If they'd met after a gig, if McManus had offered to buy him a beer, if he'd smiled at him and said he'd like Charlie's songs... well, Charlie probably would have smiled back, and chatted with him, and they might have shared a beer or two and flirted a little before saying goodnight. Or Charlie might have gone home with him, and they would have snogged a bit before falling into bed and shagging each other senseless. 

Charlie shook his head. None of that was going to happen now, so there wasn't much point in thinking about what might have been. 

On the other side of the pub, McManus took the envelope proffered by the pale man and opened it. He riffled through the contents - money, presumably - and nodded. They both stood up; the pale man turned away and left, while McManus put the envelope into his jacket pocket and returned to the bar. 

"All done, then?" asked Charlie. 

"Aye," McManus grabbed his beer and drained it. He gestured to Charlie's glass. "Drink up, lad, I've got work for you." 

Charlie drained his glass and followed McManus, who had headed deeper into the room. When he pushed through the door marked "Toilets" Charlie knew exactly what was coming. 

McManus dragged him into the handicapped stall and unbuckled his belt. "On your knees, Charlie, show me what you're worth." 

Charlie felt a wave of self-disgust wash over him. Only moments before he'd been imagining how it might have been to meet the man as an equal, and now he was being reminded – deliberately, he was sure – that to McManus he was just a whore, a piece of merchandise. 

He dropped to his knees and undid the button and zipper, exactly as he had done before - was it only three weeks ago? - before easing the trousers down. Plain navy-blue silk boxers lay underneath the trousers, and Charlie eased them down, stretching the elastic at the front to prevent it catching. McManus's cock was twitching and lengthening in his hand as he took hold of it, and he noted again the clean, slightly spicy smell of whatever soap he used. At least he could be thankful for that. 

He took the head into his mouth, in and out gently, working his way down slowly, almost to the base, trying to gauge from McManus's responses what his preferences were. He didn't seem to mind the occasional scrape of teeth, and he actually wriggled when Charlie pressed his tongue to the sensitive spot beneath the head. With one hand on McManus's hip, and the other steadying his cock, Charlie began a steady, non-nonsense up-and-down that brought McManus to the brink in just a few minutes. His mouth filled with the bittersweet fluid and he swallowed. 

McManus seemed to sigh softly as Charlie gently replaced his boxers and zipped up his trousers, but didn't speak until Charlie got up off his knees. 

"A bit fast, but then I don't have time to waste this evening." He straightened himself up and gestured to the door. "Let's get out of here. I've a phone for you in the car." 

Charlie followed McManus out to the car park, where his car turned out to be a dark blue Toyota Camry. Charlie was a little surprised - he had expected something a bit more flashy. His expression must have given away more than he realised because McManus actually grinned, saying, "Don't judge a book by its cover, lad. It's reliable, it's economical and it’s anonymous. The last thing I need is some fancy car that spends half its time in the shop waiting on parts, and the other half being pulled over by police." 

He opened the boot and rummaged around various boxes and bags. "You know the most pathetic thing I ever saw?" he asked, rhetorically, as he searched. "A pale orange Lamborghini going down the M1 at exactly seventy miles an hour." He shook his head, sadly. "Stupid git buys one of the fastest cars in the world and he can't even speed on the motorway because everyone's looking at him, every second of the day. I mean, how many pale orange Lamborghinis are there in the country? Everyone knows who he is. Whereas this," he closed the car boot and gave it a gentle pat, "gets me where I want to be in very good time and no one ever notices." 

Charlie nodded, though he didn't agree with McManus's reasoning. Personally, he'd have taken the Lamborghini, whatever its colour. 

McManus held up a plastic carrier bag. "In here you will find one phone, with charger. The phone has a pre-paid SIM card - the number's in the bag, along with the instructions. Now, remember, this phone is for me to call you, not for you to be calling all your friends. I expect you to keep it charged and on and with you at all times. If you use it and it runs low, you top it up fast. Do you understand?" 

Charlie nodded and took the bag. His fingers touched McManus's for a brief second, and he felt a slight thrill at the contact. 

McManus kept hold of the bag - he hadn't finished his instructions. "If I phone you and the phone is switched off, or engaged, or you don't answer, I am going to be very angry. You've seen me angry. You do not want to see me _very_ angry. Do you understand all that?" 

"Yes." Charlie nodded again. "On, charged, with me at all times." 

"Good." McManus walked around to the driver's door and unlocked it. "I'll call you tomorrow." He got into the car, switched on the ignition, belted up and drove off without giving Charlie so much as another glance. 

Charlie was left standing in the car park feeling slightly dazed. _Oh well,_ he thought, as he turned around and headed for the bus stop, _that's Day One._

  


_Thursday 29 July, 7:21 pm_

Charlie would have been cursing, but he needed all his breath for running. He was running because he was late, and even though it wasn't his fault he knew he was going to be in trouble. 

His worst fears were realised as he rounded the corner and saw McManus making his exit from the bar and heading towards him. 

"You’re late," McManus snapped. 

"I know," panted Charlie, "I'm sorry. I ran as fast as I could but I missed the first bus and-" 

McManus cut him off. "I've told you before, I'm not interested in excuses, only results. You're twenty minutes late, boy. That's twenty minutes of my time wasted. I don't like wasting my time." 

"I'm sorry," Charlie said again. "If you'd given me a little more time to get here-" 

"Are you making excuses?" 

"No," insisted Charlie, "I'm just telling you that I don't have a car, and if you want me to get from one side of the city to another in rush hour, you have to give me more time." 

For a moment Charlie thought the man was going to hit him, but he stood his ground and looked McManus in the eye. He thought he saw a look of admiration in McManus's eyes at his boldness, but he might have been mistaken, as McManus's face closed up and became unreadable once more. 

"That sounds perilously close to a demand, Charlie Pace," McManus said in a voice that was so low it was almost a growl. "Do you think you're in a position to make demands of me?" 

Charlie swallowed, but said, "I'm not making demands. I'm just saying-" 

McManus held a hand up to stop him. Charlie thought McManus was going to tell him off again, but then he realised that McManus's mobile phone was ringing - a plain ringtone, no fancy pop songs or theme tunes. McManus pulled the phone out of his pocket and grimaced as he read the display. "Stay there," he told Charlie, and thumbed the button to answer, turning and taking a few steps away before speaking. 

Charlie watched him as he took the call. He couldn't make out the words but McManus was speaking in clipped, angry tones, his accent broadened to an almost impenetrable Glasgow burr. It didn't augur well for whoever was on the other end, thought Charlie. His breathing was returning to normal after the run, finally, and he turned away from McManus to watch the people who were walking past them - ordinary people with ordinary lives - and to wonder what they were doing and where they were going. Most of them were tired, with no interest in their surroundings. Some of them gave him or McManus a slightly curious glance, but that was all. He might as well have been invisible. 

After a couple of minutes, McManus ended his call and turned back to face Charlie. His face was bleak as he looked at his watch, and for the first time Charlie detected a little uncertainty in the man's manner. It didn't last long though - he straightened his shoulders and came to a decision. 

"I don't have time for this now," he announced. "Go home, and I'll have Chris phone you with instructions tomorrow." 

"You don't want...?" Charlie didn't finish the question, and was a little surprised that he'd started it. After all, oughtn't he to be happy that McManus was finished with him so quickly? 

"I said _I don't have time,"_ repeated McManus, with heavy emphasis. "Don't try and read more into what I say. I'll deal with your lateness tomorrow." With that, he brushed past and headed for his car, leaving Charlie standing in the street feeling somewhat bemused. He hadn't had to do anything, and he was free of McManus for another twenty-four hours, so why did he feel almost disappointed? It wasn't just the waste of a bus fare, was it? He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thought. 

He pulled out some coins from his pocket and briefly debated heading into the bar for a pint, but decided against it - he had a feeling he'd be needing all his spare cash for transport in the coming weeks. Instead, he headed back to the bus stop and the long journey home. 


	5. Chapter 5

_Friday 30 July 8pm_

Charlie had a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach as he walked into the pub McManus had nominated for this evening's rendezvous (it was an odd word to use, he thought, but he could hardly call it a date, and he refused to call it a trick). The instructions that he had been given that afternoon hadn't sounded too bad - wear his leather trousers and a bit of eyeliner - but then he hadn't realised what sort of bar it was going to be. It was a proper pub: not a night club, not a tarted-up wine or cocktail bar, but a beer-and-whisky bar; a working class bar. Charlie wouldn't mind that, normally - he'd been in plenty - but it wasn't the sort of bar that welcomed young men of indeterminate sexuality wearing leather and make-up. In retrospect, he thought that adding a little body glitter was a Bad Idea. 

It didn't take a genius to work out that this was punishment for last night, and Charlie hoped with all his might that McManus would turn up and they could leave before he was beaten to a pulp. On the other hand, Chris had specifically told Charlie he was to wait until McManus got there, even if he was late, so the man might have planned this - he might want him to be beaten up. He hoped not, but Liam had told him some of the rumours concerning the Shark's activities in Glasgow, and even if they were only half-true (surely he hadn't actually thrown a kid off a balcony?), they were enough to make even a brave man think twice about getting on McManus's wrong side. Charlie didn't feel very brave right now. 

He swallowed, crossed his fingers, and walked up to the bar. "I'll have a pint of lager, thanks." 

The barman pulled the pint with a practised hand and placed the glass on the bar. "That'll be one pound fifty." 

Charlie handed him the coins and took a sip of the beer. It was good, no doubt about that, and he hoped he'd get to finish it - he certainly couldn't afford to buy beer every night, even at such a good price, let alone buy it and then not drink it. 

He took a couple more sips, looking around at the décor (dark, heavy wood, a few old sporting prints yellowed with age and nicotine, various stains on the floorboards that suggested more than spilt beer, and he would much rather not examine them at close range, thank you very much) and trying not to catch the eye of anyone bigger than him... which, in effect, meant anyone at all. 

Several men looked at him and muttered among themselves. They were very different from the people he'd seen on the two previous two nights. These were men who were paid by the hour, who worked in the factories and on the roads, in dirty messy jobs that strengthened their arms and rotted their brains. These were men for whom "normality" was a creed, men who stuck fast to the old ways, who carried with them the old village prejudices of "us" and "them". Charlie, being half-Irish, middle-class and gay, knew he was definitely "them". 

He silently cursed McManus for ordering him here, and cursed himself for not acting on his instincts and getting out of there fast. He cursed his own stupidity for breaking Liam's arm, and then, for good measure, cursed Liam for getting them into this mess in the first place. If he got out of here with just a beating he'd be lucky. 

A large shadow loomed over him and his heart sank. 

"I haven't seen you in here before." The speaker was a tall man, around 45 or so, thick-set, unshaven, flannel shirt - _classic homophobe,_ thought Charlie. 

"No, well I haven't been in here before." He felt that some more explanation was needed, and added 

"I'm meeting someone." 

"Your girlfriend, perhaps?" 

He shook his head. "A bloke." 

"Boyfriend, maybe?" 

_Shit, shit, shit,_ Charlie thought. "No! That is... I don’t have a boyfriend, of course I don't, I have a girlfriend, she's just not here. No, I'm just meeting a bloke for business." He gave a mental wince at how weak and pathetic he sounded. 

"Business? And what sort of business takes you into pubs all dressed up like that?" The man leaned in a little closer. 

One of the man's friends wandered over. He was slightly younger, wearing a shirt with torn-off sleeves over a black tank top. "What have we got here, Dan?" he asked. 

"We've got a boy meeting someone on _business._ Dressed like that." 

Dan's friend looked at him with the air of a wolf eyeing a new-born lamb. "I have a feeling I don't like your sort of business, nancy-boy. Your sort of business gives places like this a bad name." 

_Oh fuck, I'm going to die,_ thought Charlie. _I'm going to be beaten up and raped and then they’re going to kill me._ He really, really wanted to kick this guy in the balls and then run away as fast as he could, hoping that none of them could catch him, but then McManus would be even more angry and he hated to think of what McManus might think up as a punishment for that. Still, he couldn't help backing away slightly. 

Dan's friend leered at him. "Scared, nancy-boy? You should be. We don't like your kind in here." 

Charlie swallowed, and put his glass down on the bar. 

"Now then, Bob," the barman interrupted, "we don't want no trouble in here. Leave the boy alone." 

Bob grabbed Charlie's shirt and pulled him forward. "No trouble at all, mate. We're just going to have a little chat about business... outside." 

"Now look, mate," Charlie was panicking now, and all thoughts of waiting for McManus had vanished - all he wanted to do was get as far away from these thugs as possible. "I don't know what your problem is. I haven't done anything. If you don't want me here I'll just go, OK? 

Unfortunately, Bob and Dan weren't listening. Dan grabbed Charlie's arm and twisted it up behind him, while Bob maintained his grip on the front of his shirt. The two of them practically carried Charlie towards the front entrance, which, he tried to tell himself, was a good thing, because even if they gave him a few punches, they weren't likely to rape him or kill him out there on the street. He revised this thought as the men walked a few steps further and turned into the service alley that ran up the centre of the block. It stank of refuse and stale urine, and he suddenly felt very, very sick. 

_I'm going to die,_ he thought, as he was shoved up against the wall of the pub, held upright only by Bob's fist on his shirt. His head ached with the force of impact, and his eyes closed, so he didn't see the punch that was coming: it landed in his stomach, winding him badly. He barely heard the men laughing over his head; he was too busy trying to breathe. 

Bob forced him upright again. "Liked that, did you, you fucking poofter?" 

"Fuck off." Charlie wheezed, knowing it was the wrong thing to say but beyond caring. He was going to die anyway, so he might as well take what little dignity he had left with him. 

Dan laughed. "I like a bit of spirit. Makes it more sporting, like." He grabbed Charlie's hair and forced him to look up. "You're going to wish you’d never been born, son," he cackled. 

Bob drew back to give him another punch. The man's face was alight with a feral joy, and Charlie realised that this wasn't going to stop until he lay dead or dying. The punch landed with nearly as much force as the first, and for a few seconds he wasn't sure if he was going to pass out from lack of breath or vomit from the impact. He felt helpless. There was no way he could wriggle out from their grasp, and he certainly couldn't run, not when it took so much effort simply to breathe. He was pulled upright by Dan, who pushed him back against the wall and the back of his head hit the bricks again, on the same spot as before. 

He was starting to panic - there really was no way out of this. He heard Bob laughing as he gave him another blow to the stomach and he tried, once more, to bend over and give his muscles some relief, but couldn't. He was going to be sick and then they'd kill him and it would all be over... 

"Is there a problem here?" 

The voice came from Charlie's right, and he turned his head slightly. It was McManus, standing at the entrance to the alley, and behind him were Chris and Ken. He felt almost faint with relief - salvation in the form of a Glasgow tough was unexpected, but still salvation. His knees sagged, but Dan was still holding him up. 

Bob looked at the small man, unimpressed. "Nothing to do with you, mate. Just cleaning out the rubbish." 

"Rubbish, eh? Not the way I like to hear my people described." McManus walked a little closer. 

"Your people? Who the hell are you?" 

"No one you want to mess with." 

"Oh yeah?" Bob took a step towards the intruders, but stopped suddenly. Charlie wondered what was happening, but forcing air in and out of his lungs was taking up all his concentration. At least Dan had slackened his grip and he was able to bend over to ease the pain in his chest and stomach. 

"Yes." The single word carried conviction. McManus had moved steadily into the alley as he spoke, and Dan and Bob were starting to back off. 

"Think you're some sort of hero with that knife, do you? Think you're tough?" Bob taunted - though he, like Dan, had taken a few steps back from the group. 

McManus looked at him steadily. "You think you're tough, taking on an unarmed boy, do you? You wouldn't last three minutes where I grew up." 

"I'm not afraid of some Scottish git with a knife that's bigger than his prick." 

McManus smiled: that feral Shark smile that Charlie had only seen once before, and which, even now, send a cold trickle down his spine. "Come and get me, then. If you're not afraid." 

Somehow, neither Bob nor Dan seemed inclined to take up the invitation. The Shark smiled even more widely, and said, "No? Then we'll come to you." He gestured, and Chris and Ken surged forward. It took only a few seconds to dispatch the two bullies, both of McManus's men displaying surprising speed and forceful punches. 

Charlie wasn't really watching - he'd bent over again, trying to ease the ache in his stomach. He felt a tap on his shoulder and twisted his head to look up. It was McManus. He looked the archetypal gangster, in his sharp suit and Italian leather shoes. As Charlie watched, he retracted the blade of his knife and put it in his pocket. 

"Get up, lad." 

Charlie nodded, and tried to straighten up. It took a lot of effort. 

"Can you walk?" asked McManus. 

Charlie nodded again, and managed to take a few steps. He glanced back at the two big men, who were smoothing their clothes and inspecting their knuckles. Ken slipped something from his hand onto his jacket pocket, which promptly sagged under the weight. A lead bar, Charlie realised. No wonder the bullies had crumpled. 

McManus shepherded him out of the alley, while Chris and Ken followed behind them, smoothing their clothes. They walked a few yards down the street and into a small shopping centre car park, where the Camry was parked. Chris unlocked the car and McManus opened one of the rear doors, saying, "Get in, lad, and put your seatbelt on. And don't even think about throwing up." He moved around to the other side and got in beside Charlie, while Chris and Ken got into the front. 

"Where to, boss?" asked Chris. 

"My place. Drop us there, then you can sort yourselves out." 

"Aye, then." Chris started the car and they drove off. 

The journey took about twenty minutes, but it didn't seem that long - at least, Charlie didn't think so, though he was still in a state of shock. McManus's place turned out to be in the new development that had replaced the Grammar School at Whitefield, which surprised him - he didn't know what he had expected, exactly, but a smart flat in a respectable suburban street was certainly not what he had imagined for someone with the Shark's reputation. 

The car drew up at the kerb and McManus unbuckled his seat belt. 

"What time in the morning, boss?" asked Chris, looking at his boss through the rear-view mirror. 

McManus ran a hand over his hair as he thought for a couple of minutes. "Better make it seven," he said eventually. "I need to be there by midday." 

Chris nodded, non-committally. "Seven it is." 

McManus got out, and Charlie followed, grimacing a little as he pulled himself upright. His stomach still hurt a little, but he didn't think that there was any serious damage - he'd had worse from Liam when they were younger. It was the deliberate nature of it all that had scared him; that and the feeling of being powerless. 

"Still feeling sick?" asked McManus as the car drove off. 

"No, I don't think I'm going to puke. Just a bit bruised, that's all." Charlie gave the man a tentative smile. 

"Good." McManus turned led the way into the building. 

They walked up two flights of stairs and along a short corridor to get to the front door of the flat. McManus opened the door, and led Charlie into a small hall which had a door on each side and another, smaller flight of stairs at the end of it. 

The door had barely closed when Charlie found himself thrust backwards by a powerful hand. Fear flared in him again as the Shark pinned him against the door and snarled at him. 

"You were told to wait for me, boy. You were told to stay put until I arrived." 

"I _was_ waiting - " Charlie tried to wriggle, but McManus was surprisingly strong. 

"I had to come and find you. I had to rescue you. I had to risk my men for you, you stupid git." The anger in his voice was evident, and Charlie felt suddenly ashamed that he'd failed. 

"I'm sorry," he muttered automatically. 

"Sorry is fucking useless." The Shark released the pressure on Charlie's chest and took a step back, undoing his flies. "There are other ways to apologise, and you’d better make this a bloody good one." 

Suddenly, Charlie realised that McManus's earlier question had had nothing to do with concern for his welfare. He bit off an angry retort - that would only make things worse - and dropped wearily to his knees. McManus had pulled his cock out himself, and Charlie could see that he was already highly aroused. _Must have been the violence,_ he thought. 

He took the reddened, engorged penis in his hand. He really didn't want to do this now. He wasn't actually feeling sick, but he was certainly feeling battered and bruised and the last thing he wanted to be doing was giving a blow job to someone. 

"Get on with it," came the curt command from above his head. 

Well, it wasn't up to him, was it? He'd given away any right to his own preferences for a month, and this was just part of the deal. He shuffled a little closer, opened his mouth and engulfed McManus's cock. He could taste pre-come already, and he didn't think that McManus wanted any fancy trimmings, so he just sucked and pulled and squeezed. 

"Oh, fuck, yeah," McManus moaned, then his hands came down on either side of Charlie's head and Charlie found himself being held still as McManus fucked his mouth and throat. God, he hated this. There was nothing he could do except to tilt his head back a little so that he wasn't actually choking, and wait for it to be over. It didn't take long - less than a minute, probably, but it seemed like a very long minute to Charlie. When his throat filled up he swallowed frantically and tried to pull back, but he was held in a strong grip. He started to choke, and was feeling a little faint when McManus relaxed his grip and Charlie sat back on his heels, coughing. 

He didn't move for a few seconds, just tried to control himself again - there were tears in his eyes and he wanted to get rid of them before McManus could see them. He could hear McManus breathing, but the man didn't move and didn't speak. Charlie didn't dare look up. He knew that the man would be unhappy with his performance, and he didn't know what was going to happen. He wasn't sure what to do - he figured anything he said would be wrong - so he stayed crouched on the floor trying to get his breath back. 

McManus was silent for several seconds more, then Charlie heard rustling sounds as the man dressed himself. McManus put a hand gently on his shoulder, and for a second Charlie thought he might be going to apologise. Then the grip tightened and McManus said "You need a lot of fucking practice with that," before releasing him and walking away. 

Charlie remained on the floor for a couple of minutes before pulling himself slowly to his feet. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, noting absently that there were a couple of marks on it already - probably from the alley. He walked in the direction McManus had gone and found himself in a large airy kitchen. 

McManus was making a pot of tea and gestured to Charlie to sit at the table in the middle of the room, which was already equipped with two mugs, a bowl of sugar, a bottle of milk and some teaspoons. 

Charlie sat down heavily, and rested his head on his hands, his eyes closed. He wanted to go home, but he doubted that McManus would let him go until morning. All he could do was to wait for more orders and then try to do whatever McManus wanted. It wasn't a very attractive prospect. 

"Here, lad," McManus said, his voice surprisingly calm, "get that down you. You look like you need it." 

A mug of tea was pushed across the table at him, and Charlie looked up. McManus was spooning sugar into his own mug and stirring it, taking no notice of Charlie whatsoever. Charlie reached for the mug, added milk and sugar and took a sip. It was good, though a little weaker than he liked. After a moment, he added another spoonful of sugar - his frugal dinner had been several hours ago, and there'd been a lot of adrenaline rushing around since then. 

They sat in silence for several minutes. Charlie could feel that McManus was watching him, but he didn't look up. He drank his tea and kept his eyes firmly on his mug. 

Charlie found his thoughts returning again and again to the enigma of Rory McManus, how he could be normal - even kind - one minute, and a snarling fury the next. He wondered, with some trepidation, what he'd be like in bed. There wasn't much doubt that he was a top, so it was lucky that Charlie enjoyed bottoming, as long as it wasn't too rough. He cast an appraising eye at McManus, wondering how rough he'd be. He hadn't been too bad with the blow jobs until today, but he'd certainly shown he could be cruel when he wanted to be. Still, he looked to have calmed down a bit now. Charlie guessed that it wouldn't be long before he found out for sure. 

As if McManus could read Charlie's mind he drained his mug and stood up. "Come on, lad. You look like you've recovered. Time we went upstairs." 

Charlie stiffened slightly, but obediently swallowed the rest of his tea and rose to join McManus. They went up the stairs to the main bedroom, which held one queen-size divan, a wardrobe, two chairs and an overflowing bookcase. 

McManus sat on the bed and looked up at Charlie. "Strip for me." 

Charlie reached up and hurriedly started undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

"Not that fast. Do it slowly. Put on a bit of a show for me." 

Charlie gulped; he'd never done that before, not even for Richard. He wasn't even sure that he could do a proper striptease. Still, McManus was calling the tune here, so he slowed down and tried to add a little graceful flourish to each movement. 

He found that he enjoyed McManus looking at him, especially when he saw that the man was getting aroused just from watching him. It felt good to have that sort of power. Charlie relaxed and let himself move a little more suggestively. 

"That's good, Charlie," McManus voiced his approval as Charlie's shirt was removed and thrown on the floor. "You have a good body, you shouldn’t be ashamed to show it off." 

Charlie smiled and undid the buttons on his trousers. The leather was still snug against his skin, and he wasn't sure that he maintained a suitable stripper-like grace as he inched them down his thighs, but McManus wasn't complaining. At least he'd gone commando, so he didn't have to worry about elastic snagging or fabric catching in awkward places. Finally, he stood naked in the middle of the room, and he looked to McManus for guidance on what to do next. 

McManus stared at him appreciatively. "Come here," he said, and reached out an arm. 

Charlie walked over to the bed and stood just in front of him. McManus slid his hands around Charlie's hips and buttocks, causing Charlie to shiver. His cock was starting to harden, and McManus put one hand to it, stroking it as it filled and lengthened. Charlie was amazed at how arousing - thrilling - it was to stand here, naked, in front of a man he was a little afraid of, being stroked off only because it pleased McManus to do so. The man's other hand slid under and behind his balls, and he widened his stance to allow McManus to reach further between his legs, to rub teasingly over the sensitive skin there. 

It had been months since Charlie had been to bed with anyone, and he found himself eager for this - wanting it, needing it - and was vaguely surprised to remember that only an hour earlier he'd been afraid. It was only sex, after all, and how could he not want sex? 

A sticky drop of pre-come appeared at the head of his cock, and McManus smeared it around and over the glans, pushing the foreskin back, causing Charlie to throw his head back and groan. That seemed to draw McManus's attention, for he let go of Charlie's cock and leaned back on the bed. "Undress me," he commanded. 

It took a few seconds for Charlie to comprehend that the stroking and rubbing had stopped. He caught his breath and dropped to his knees, wincing at the tender bruises. He undid McManus's trousers slowly and with a few teasing brushes against the considerable erection underneath the fabric. 

As he eased trousers and boxers down, McManus's cock sprang free. Charlie grasped it with one hand and brought it to his mouth, but before he could do more than touch it McManus had grabbed a handful of his hair and was pulling it fiercely. 

"I said undress me, not suck me. Do as you're told." 

Charlie flinched as McManus let him go, and all the warm thoughts he'd been harbouring were lost as he concentrated on doing just what the man told him and nothing more. Shoes, socks, trousers and boxers were removed, then Charlie undid the shirt cuffs and buttons, spreading the shirt open to reveal a fit, muscular torso. 

McManus shrugged himself out of the shirt and threw it over the end of the bed. He moved up so that his head was on the pillows and beckoned to Charlie. "Come here." 

Charlie hesitated, a mulish expression on his face. 

"Come here, Charlie," he said again, his voice softer and more cajoling than commanding. "I want to touch you." 

Charlie crawled up the bed and lay down on his side, looking at McManus warily. The man didn't move for a few seconds, just let his gaze roam over Charlie's body. His drew one finger down Charlie's chest, stopping just below his navel, circling it, then letting his hand move, inch by inch, closer to Charlie's cock. 

"I want to see you come," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Then I'm going to fuck you." 

Charlie couldn't think of anything to say, not with McManus's hand starting to stroke him again, so he just nodded. He eased over onto his back and McManus followed, his hand pumping and squeezing. He tried to stay still, tried not to thrust his hips up into that warm, moist hand, but it took some effort. He concentrated on remaining still and passive, allowing the man to do what he wanted. 

McManus seemed to be fascinated with the way Charlie's cock responded to his stimulation. He varied his stroke from time to time, adding a twist, or swirling his thumb over the now-copious fluid that was leaking from the head. 

"Good?" he asked. 

"Good," Charlie agreed, and let his head fall back onto the pillow. By now he was unable to stop his hips from moving, and McManus didn't complain, so he bent one leg and let the knee drop outward, hoping that McManus would take the hint. He did, and Charlie was soon moaning as he felt inquisitive fingers exploring his scrotum and delving further behind. It felt fantastic, and Charlie would willingly have signed up to anything as long as he was promised more of this. 

"Mmm... close," he said, and started stroking his inner thigh, but McManus batted his hand away. 

"Put your hands behind your head if you can't keep them still." 

Charlie complied, and arched his back slightly, flaunting his reddened, swollen cock. He could see McManus looking at him, but there was no way of telling what thoughts were going through the man's head. Their eyes locked as McManus swung himself over to straddle Charlie's legs, and then Charlie was flying as both hands went to work on him. His climax was ripped out of him with a cry and he came all over McManus's fingers. 

McManus watched him for a few moments more, then grabbed a tissue from the box beside the bed and wiped his hands clean. He was breathing a little heavily, and was obviously turned on by what he had just seen. Charlie essayed a smile and sat up, reaching forward to return the favour. McManus let him have a few strokes, then pulled his hand away, gasping. 

"Over you go, lad. My turn now," he said, and reached over to open the top drawer of the bedside unit. 

Charlie obediently rolled over onto his front and spread his legs. His stomach was still a little sore from the beating, but not so much that it would hurt him to do this. He was glad he wasn't on his back, being bent in half - that would have been difficult. On second thoughts, he grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it under his hips. 

He heard McManus opening the bottle of lubricant and then felt the cold, wet fingers sliding between his buttocks. He flinched, briefly, then pushed his hips up and spread his legs further, feeling pleased when McManus murmured "Good boy," as his fingers breached and penetrated him. It stung a little, but not badly, and McManus was slow and methodical in his stretching, gently stroking his prostate and working his way up to three fingers before withdrawing. By that stage Charlie was hard again and writhing, his fists clenching the sheets with his efforts to remain passive and let himself be controlled by the man he could feel and hear but not see. 

He heard a condom wrapper being torn open, and heard McManus hiss. Charlie guessed he was adding more lubricant, and very soon afterwards he felt something that was definitely not a finger start to enter him. It hurt a bit - McManus wasn't huge, but he was well-proportioned for his height, and Charlie grunted as he was filled, slowly but inexorably. Finally, McManus was as far into him as he could possibly go, and Charlie relaxed a little. 

"Christ, you feel good," breathed McManus, his accent thicker and his breath tickling Charlie's neck. "So hot, so tight, so fucking good." He pulled back a little and pushed forward, not much, but enough to cause Charlie to groan. 

"Am I hurting you, lad?" the voice behind him asked. 

"No, not hurting. Keep going, keep moving," Charlie moaned, and was rewarded by a slow, steady in-and-out motion that McManus set up and maintained with an ease that had Charlie wondering what sort of exercise programme he had. No one had ever kept this steady, delirium-inducing rhythm for so long, and Charlie was responding with a series of groans and grunts that were getting louder and louder as he approached another orgasm. He shoved one hand underneath his hips and started to stroke himself off in time with the thrusts. 

"Oh, yes, please, harder, no, don't stop, don’t stop, more, yes, yes, oh, oh, oh..." his voice trailed off as his climax broke over him, and he collapsed onto the pillows, totally exhausted and boneless. He vaguely registered that McManus had come just after he did and was now a dead weight on his back. Before it got too uncomfortable, though, McManus pulled himself off and out and rolled over to lie beside him. 

"Och..." McManus groaned, as he removed the condom and threw it over towards the wastepaper bin. 

"Mmm..." was Charlie's reply. 

Neither of them moved for a couple of minutes, then Charlie pulled the pillow from underneath his hips. There was a large wet patch towards one edge, so he pushed it over the side of the bed. He inched across the bed, closer to McManus, and lay there, just watching him. He wasn't sure what McManus would want now - sleep, or food, or maybe a massage. He presumed that he was here for the night, but McManus might change his mind at any minute. He was just a rent-boy, after all. 

After a few minutes, Charlie realised that McManus had fallen asleep and was snuffling gently. He felt a little disappointed, but told himself not to be silly. It wasn't as if they were in love. He couldn't help thinking, though, of the times that he and Richard had spent the night together, limbs entwined and bodies held close. He liked cuddling after sex, and he wasn't going to be ashamed of it. He'd just have to get used to the fact that it wasn't going to happen here. 

He made his way to the ensuite bathroom and cleaned himself up a little before getting back into the bed. He turned over to face away from McManus, closed his eyes and fell asleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

_Saturday 31 July 6am_

The shrill tone of the alarm woke them both at six. McManus cursed as he threw an arm out to silence the clock, then again as he saw the time. He threw back the covers and heaved himself up into a sitting position, which he held for a few seconds before standing up with a groan and stretching. 

Bright sunshine edged around the curtains, giving enough light for Charlie to see McManus's naked form in silhouette, and his cock twitched in appreciation. He wasn't given long to enjoy the view, though, as McManus called to him. 

"Come on, lad. Time to get up. Chris'll be here at seven so you'll have to be ready to leave then." 

Charlie grumbled and his stomach muscles protested as he pulled himself to a vaguely upright position. McManus had already disappeared into the bathroom, but Charlie needed coffee before he would be able to manage anything as complex as a shower. He stumbled his way down the stairs and found the kitchen - another large room, with a table and chairs against one wall. 

He filled the kettle and switched it on. He looked around but there was no visible tea or coffee, and he hesitated - he didn't want to start opening up cupboards without McManus's permission, but he really, really needed his coffee. Cutlery was easy to find - the top drawer, as always - and mugs were on a shelf beside the stove. Eventually, as the kettle approached the boil, he pulled open the nearest doors and found the tea, coffee and sugar all set out neatly. He pulled a mug off the shelf, opened the jar of coffee and took a big sniff. Wonderful. 

There was a teapot on the bench, so he guessed that McManus was more of a tea-drinker than a coffee-drinker. He made a pot of tea, just in case, and was proved right when McManus came down the stairs a few minutes later, shaved, showered and neatly dressed in brown slacks and a white shirt. 

"Tea? Brilliant." McManus poured himself a mug and added milk and three sugars, stirring thoroughly before taking his first sip. "Ah," he said in appreciation. He glanced at his watch. "You'd better grab a shower. I put a couple of towels out for you." His tone was pleasant but dismissive. 

Charlie drained his coffee and went upstairs without an argument. He didn't even think about shaving, but a quick shower made him feel a little more human. He was delighted to find that the soap had the same spicy citrus scent that he had smelled on McManus before, and he used it liberally, cleaning off the last of the residues from the night before. He was still a little sore, but not as much as he had thought he would be - McManus had been a lot more gentle with him than a rent-boy had any right to expect. 

He wandered back into the bedroom clad only in a towel, and started collecting his clothes, so readily abandoned a few hours ago. His leather trousers were on the back of a chair - he had a vague memory of picking them up on his way to the bathroom during the night - and he picked them up. He was dismayed to see some scratches on the back, no doubt from being forced up against the bricks in the alley, and he wondered if he could hide them with polish or a marker pen or something. They were by far the most expensive item in his wardrobe, and he certainly couldn't hope to replace them any time soon. He drew them on, smoothing them over his hips, enjoying the feel of the leather on his skin. His shirt proved more elusive, but was eventually tracked down under the bed (and how did it get there? he wondered). He shook out it out - it was crumpled and stained, and had a small tear at the back, but that couldn't be helped. 

He walked into the kitchen to find McManus eating toast. McManus looked at his shirt with disapproval, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he told Charlie to help himself to toast. 

"I wasn't sure what you wanted on it," he added, "but there's butter, jam, marmalade, Marmite - take your pick." 

"Thanks," said Charlie as he made a beeline for the toast. "Marmalade's fine." He was ravenous and demolished the two slices in a few short bites. He tried not to look around for more. 

McManus laughed. "Still young and growing?" He grabbed two more slices and put them in the toaster. "I've just got to get ready, won't be long." He disappeared up the stairs. 

Charlie sat and thought as he waited for the toast to pop up. He'd spent many an hour over the last week imagining what his first full night with McManus would be like, and he hadn't come anywhere near the truth. The man was such a contradiction - it was as if the man in the office and the man in the bedroom were two completely different people. The only thing he'd worked out was that as long as he did what he was told and didn't make the man angry, McManus wasn't too bad. If he fucked up, he could expect to be punished. That was all pretty clear. The only difficulty lay in working out McManus's mood and what he wanted, both of which seemed to change from one minute to the next. He didn't think he'd ever get that sorted. 

He ate his toast, then washed the plates and cutlery, leaving them on the draining board to dry. He had just finished putting the jams away and wiping down the table when McManus came back in and nodded his approval. Charlie felt pleased that he'd guessed right, then annoyed that this man's approval meant so much to him. _I'm really going to have to get a grip on this,_ he thought. 

"Come on, then." McManus gathered up his jacket. "It's five to, and Chris will be here any minute." 

They left the flat and walked down the stairs to the entrance. It was a pleasant morning, with the promise of another warm sunny day. Charlie took a deep breath, which was cut short when his stomach muscles protested. 

They stood in silence for a while, then Charlie remembered that he had to ask McManus something. He wasn't sure how to address him, though. Should he call him McManus? Mister McManus? Sir? He settled for clearing his throat and voicing a rather indeterminate "Umm..." 

"What do you want, Charlie?" 

"Er... Are you going to be calling me tomorrow?" he asked, a little tentatively. 

"Why?" 

"Well," he fidgeted a little, "Liam and I usually have lunch with Mum and Dad on Sundays, and if you... well, if you need me during the day, I'd rather know now." 

"Don't want me to call you while you're there, eh?" 

"Well... no. And the bus timetables aren't that good on a Sunday so I wouldn't be able to travel very quickly. I don't want to be late again." 

McManus smirked. "A little forward planning at last?" 

Charlie felt himself blush and looked away. 

"I'm away to Glasgow for the weekend, so you're safe for today. Be at Whitefield station tomorrow evening at eight, and we'll pick you up on the way back. If we're going to be later than eight-thirty I'll ring you. Make sure you're carrying the phone." 

Charlie nodded. That was pretty easy. If he spent the afternoon with his parents he could just catch the train or the bus up from Prestwich. 

The car drove up and McManus got in. "Remember - eight o'clock at the station," he called out to Charlie. 

"I'll be there." Charlie waited until the car had pulled away, then turned and headed for the bus stop. With any luck he could be back home and in bed before Liam woke up. 

  


_Sunday 01 August 1999_

Charlie was sitting on the bench outside Whitefield station at seven-thirty the following evening, watching the few evening travellers go in and out. He was still sitting there at eight o'clock and starting to get a little bored, but he didn't dare wander more than a few paces from the station entrance in case McManus turned up. It was twenty minutes past eight when the dark blue sedan eventually pulled up in front of him, and he heaved a sigh of relief. 

He got to his feet and went to open the door. He was moving a little stiffly, though he tried to hide it, and McManus noticed. 

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "Is that from Friday?" 

"Nothing. Just Liam being a prick as usual." Charlie really didn't want to talk about it and tried to make his tone as off-hand as possible. He got into the car and was thankful that McManus didn't push the point until they were dropped off at his place five minutes later. 

McManus told Chris to pick him up at eight the next morning, then got out of the car. Charlie followed, and Chris drove off without a backward glance. 

McManus turned to Charlie and saw the careful way he was moving. "What happened?" he asked again, a little more sternly, as he inspected the red mark on Charlie's left cheek. 

"No, it's nothing. Just a bit of an argument with Liam. We fight all the time. Nothing to it, really." 

"I'd have thought that broken arm would have held him back a bit." 

"Yeah, well, he's right-handed," 

"What were you fighting about?" 

Charlie brushed the question aside. "Nothing important. I'm here, aren't I? Let's just get on with whatever you had planned." 

McManus frowned, as if he wanted to pursue the subject further, then shrugged. "I'm not sure I had anything planned for this evening. I'm too tired to go out, that's for sure. Fancy some Thai?" 

"Yeah, Thai would be great." 

"Good." McManus opened the door and gestured for Charlie to turn right, into the living room. 

It was a spacious, well-lit and well-proportioned room, containing two comfortable-looking black leather sofas, and a TV and stereo unit in one corner. To Charlie's astonishment, there was a large built-in bookcase along one wall which was filled to overflowing with books, like the one in the bedroom. The two windows caught the evening sun, which bathed the room in a soft golden light. 

McManus headed for the phone and ordered chicken with lemongrass and a green curry. Charlie wandered over to the rack of CDs beside the stereo, curious to see what the man like to listen to. 

There were a couple of Beatles albums - that was good - and some other oldies like The Doors and Queen, plus some Oasis, Blur, silverchair, Eurythmics; several Kylie Minogue albums (Charlie made a face at that, he couldn't stand her and her strangled-budgie voice); Clannad, Enya and The Corrs (well, McManus was Celtic, you had to make allowances for the fey folk, he supposed); some blues and instrumentals - BB King, Robert Cray, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Joe Satriani; some metal - Status Quo, AC/DC, Van Halen... it wasn't Charlie's selection, by any means, but it wasn't too bad. It could have been a lot worse - Spice Girls, for instance. Charlie had never knowingly shagged anyone who owned a Spice Girls album and he was perversely glad that he didn't have to make an exception for McManus. 

"Put some music on if you want," Rory said as he headed out of the room. "I'm just going to change." 

Charlie spent a few more minutes browsing through the CDs and eventually chose an old Enya album. The casing was dull and scratched, suggesting it was one of McManus's favourites, and he thought it would be a good choice. He sat down, enjoying the complex harmonies and multi-layered vocals. 

Rory didn't come back down until a buzz on the intercom announced the arrival of the food. Charlie got up to answer it but Rory was already there, dressed now in a T-shirt and loose shorts. He paid off the delivery boy at the door and took the food into the kitchen, Charlie following a few paces behind. 

They sat at the small table and ate the food with gusto. It wasn't until they had nearly finished that Charlie remembered why he was there, and that eating a curry wasn't the wisest thing to do if he was supposed to be going down on McManus. When he mentioned it, in a slightly apologetic voice, McManus wasn't too fussed. 

"Och, it's no big deal," he said, trying to stifle a yawn. "I'm too tired for anything more than a quick fuck tonight, so it hardly matters." 

Charlie gathered up the dishes and took them through to the kitchen. He threw the take-away containers into the bin and started to wash the plates. 

"No, leave them," ordered McManus. "I'll throw them in the dishwasher tomorrow. Come upstairs." 

There was no strip-tease tonight. Both of them undressed quickly, and Charlie climbed onto the bed while McManus got out lubricant and another condom from the bedside unit. Charlie saw that there was still some glitter on the sheets from when he had lain there on Friday night - it gave him an odd feeling to realise that he had left something of himself in the flat all weekend. 

McManus motioned for Charlie to roll over onto his stomach, which he did, after locating the pillow he'd used before and placing it under his hips again. McManus frowned when he saw the bruises from Friday night and the new ones from Charlie's altercation with Liam, but said nothing. 

It was a plain, no-nonsense fuck tonight, with no teasing or playing, though McManus still took care to make sure that Charlie was well-stretched and lubricated before he entered him. Once again Charlie felt that slow, forceful intrusion into his body. He wasn't as scared of it this time, and he welcomed the sensation of being filled and stretched, of being pulled and pushed as McManus moved in and out of his body. It didn't take long for McManus to come, and Charlie noted that he was almost silent - a soft grunt and intake of breath being the only audible indication of his climax. 

McManus pulled out, disposed of the used condom and flopped down on the bed. "I needed that," he yawned, and close his eyes. Within seconds he was asleep. 

Charlie pulled the pillow out from under his hips, rolled over onto his side and looked down at his still-straining erection. He felt disappointed and a little resentful that McManus hadn't brought him off, and had to tell himself yet again that he shouldn't expect too much from this... well, it wasn't a relationship, that was the whole problem. It was an _arrangement,_ and only McManus had satisfaction guaranteed. 

He tugged at his cock, wanting to bring himself off quickly but, at the same time, not wanting to wake the man lying only a few inches behind him. He tried to remember being with Richard, how good they'd been in bed together, but for the first time he found it difficult to picture Richard's face. He switched to his latest favourite fantasy - being Qui-Gon's devoted padawan - but soon found himself thinking of McManus instead, imagining that it was The Shark giving him that feral smile, going down on him, opening that sweet bow of a mouth and taking his cock deep, deep into his throat, stroking the underside with his tongue, touching him gently with his teeth, fondling his balls with those dainty hands, maybe even putting a finger inside him and... and he came in a rush, splattering not only his hands but his thighs and the bed sheets, too. 

_I am so fucked up,_ he told himself. 

He made a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up, then got back into bed and tried to sleep. His mind was too active, though, churning over the events of the weekend, and he lay there for over an hour without feeling sleepy at all. 

Eventually, he got out of bed and drifted over to the window, where he parted the curtains and looked out into the night. There wasn't much to see from this angle, just the grass and a footpath, but he opened the window and breathed in the night air, refreshingly cool after the heat of the day. He leaned against the window frame, wondering how he was going to get through the next few weeks without Liam giving him away, without his parents finding out, without - 

He was startled by a touch on his shoulder and a voice asking, "What are you looking at?" McManus had come up behind him and he hadn't even heard. 

Charlie shook his head, hoping that the man would leave him alone. 

"Tell me," McManus whispered, and Charlie shivered as the man's breath stirred the hairs on his neck and shoulder. 

"Just Liam..." 

"What about Liam?" 

Charlie closed his eyes as he explained. "Just brother stuff. He always teases me, you know. Ever since he found out I was gay, he keeps on making snide remarks about faggots and queers and stuff. Today he kept calling me a 'little slut' for sleeping with you. I mean - I know I am, sort of. I said it myself, I'd be your rent-boy for a month, but... but..." 

"But he doesn’t have to rub your nose in it." McManus's voice was low and menacing. 

"No. And it's his fault in the first place, you know, but he won't listen. He always gets away with things, it's so fucking unfair. All through lunch he kept looking at me with that stupid little smile on his face, like he knows something no one else knows, and I thought he was going to tell Mum and Dad, and I couldn't bear it. He knows I don't want my parents to know I'm gay - at least, not yet - and he-" He clenched his fists tightly, determined not to lose control in front of McManus, even if the man couldn't see his face. "I mean, I'm not stupid. I been around a bit, I know what goes on. You - you've actually been pretty decent about this so far. Just because I said it could be a lot worse, that you're not actually raping me every night, he tells me I'm a whore. That's got nothing to do with it!" 

"Was that when he hit you?" 

"Yeah.. well, I hit him first," Charlie confessed. "But he deserved it. I just couldn't stand him teasing me any more." He sighed. "He does it to me every time, you know - since we were kids. He just says things until I hit him and then he tells everyone I hit him first, so I'm the one who gets the punishment. It's just not fair!" And yeah, he sounded like a three-year-old, but so what. It wasn't fair. 

Behind him, McManus put a hand on his shoulder. Charlie almost jumped at the sudden, unexpected warmth against his skin, but the touch was gentle, not threatening, and he relaxed almost immediately. 

"Life's not fair, kid. Don't ever expect it to be." McManus turned away, saying, "Come back to bed. You need your sleep, lad, and I definitely need mine." He yawned. "I'll sort Liam out tomorrow." 

"How?" 

McManus didn't answer, just led him back to the bed and watched as Charlie lay down. For a moment, Charlie thought - hoped - he might get in right there with him and cuddle up, but after standing motionless for a few seconds, his expression unreadable in the dark, he turned away and went around to his own side of the bed. 

Charlie lay quietly and listened as McManus got into bed, settled himself down and went to sleep. Something had changed. He still didn't understand exactly what had happened, or why, but the fact that McManus had told him he'd sort Liam out was oddly comforting - it wasn't often that anyone took his side against his older brother. And that hand on his shoulder... it hadn't been a hug or anything, but it was the most gentle touch he'd had from McManus yet. Could it be that the man liked him after all? He closed his eyes and tried to remember how it had felt, just in case it never happened again, and fell asleep at last. 


	7. Chapter 7

_Monday 02 August 2 pm_

Charlie was a little puzzled by the instructions he'd been given that morning. He'd got back to the flat he shared with Liam and Ben at about nine-thirty, only to be rung by Chris and told to come into the office after lunch. He hadn't been planning on going into town at all, but after shaving and grabbing something to eat he went into the job centre to fill in time and was lucky enough to score an interview for the following day. 

He arrived at the office just after two, humming a little tune under his breath. The office was quiet, as usual, and Chris told him that McManus was out. He cooled his heels in the waiting room, and was flicking through what had to be the World's Most Boring Magazine when his phone rang. He answered it immediately, but instead of McManus, it was Liam. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Charlie?" 

"What?" Charlie was stunned at the vehemence in Liam's voice. 

"Your fucking _boyfriend_ just stormed into my office and threatened me!" 

"What? He's not -" 

"What have you been saying about me?" 

"Nothing!" 

"Bullshit!" 

"No, nothing! He saw the bruise you gave me -" 

"So you had to go bleating to him." 

"No! He asked me, that's all." 

"You didn’t have to tell him!" 

"You didn’t have to hit me!" 

"Since when have you been such a fucking girl's blouse?" 

"Liam -" 

"Hiding behind your fucking pet gangster -" 

"Liam!" 

Whatever else Liam had to say was lost as McManus came into the waiting room behind Charlie and plucked the phone out of his grasp. 

"Liam." His voice was cold and hard, redolent of generations of Glasgow toughs. "I told you not to bother Charlie again. I told you I protect my own. Now believe it." He thumbed the phone off and glared at Charlie, his face as black as thunder. "What the hell possessed you to give the prick your phone number?" 

Charlie took a half-step back. "It - it was just in case something happened - to Mum or Dad, or someone, and he had to contact me. I - I didn’t know how much time I’d be spending with you. And I couldn't really give the number to anyone else without explaining how I got the phone, so..." his voice trailed off, half-expecting a cuff around the ear. To his surprise, however, McManus didn't hit him, but thrust the phone into his chest, pushing him back against the wall. 

"Don't give it to anyone else," he ordered. 

Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak coherently. 

Rory's face became even harder as he looked at the bruise on Charlie's cheek again. "You'll stay with me tonight, I don't want you going anywhere near him until his temper cools. I don’t like my property getting damaged by vandals." 

"I'm not your property!" 

"For the next thirty days that's exactly what you are, and you'd better not forget it." 

Charlie was about to protest but McManus forestalled him, lifting a finger and hissing, "Don't even think about answering back, boy." 

Charlie's temper flared. Fuck this! He wasn't about to let some pint-sized Glaswegian mobster tell him what to do. McManus could go to hell and shrivel up into a cinder before he'd obey any more orders from him. 

As he opened his mouth to say this out loud, he caught sight of Chris, who was slowly shaking his head. Charlie paused. Chris was not pint-sized. Chris was large and solid and would pound him into a bloody pulp if he was ordered to - and he'd do it without even breaking a sweat. 

Gradually, common sense reasserted itself. Charlie closed his mouth and forcibly relaxed his clenched fists as he slowly regained control over the rage that had almost taken him over. 

Much as he hated to acknowledge it, McManus was right - for the rest of the month McManus could order him around. He'd agreed to that. He'd volunteered, in fact. He'd done it for his family, to forestall the threats that McManus had made against his mother and sisters, and he had to remember that. He vowed to control himself better, for their sake. He couldn't afford to lose his temper again, not until the arrangement was over, no matter what the provocation. He just couldn't. 

He nodded, reluctantly, in acquiescence if not agreement, and saw McManus relax very slightly in return. 

There was silence for a few more seconds, then McManus turned away and ran a hand through his hair. As he was walking over to Chris's desk, Charlie remembered something else - he'd have to ask McManus for a lift in the morning if he was going to get back into town in time for his job interview. Nice timing, Charlie, he told himself. _This is going to be really awkward._ He wondered if he should leave it for a few minutes, but then he worried he might forget until he was too late. He couldn't afford to risk skipping an interview - his dole might be stopped and then he'd be totally destitute. 

He cleared his throat. "Would you be able to give me a lift back into town in the morning, then?" he asked, trying to make his voice calm and non-demanding. "I have a job interview at half past nine." 

If McManus was taken aback by the sudden change of tone and subject he didn't show it. "Oh, aye?" he queried. "What's it for?" 

"Short order cook, at a takeaway place in Oldham St. Nothing fancy, but it'll help pay the rent." 

"Can you cook?" McManus did look surprised at that. 

"Oh, yeah - a bit, anyway. I had a job as a cook at a café in Broughton, but they closed down at the beginning of May. I haven't been able to get anything since then." He shrugged. "No qualifications, that's the problem. And trying to get time off if we have a gig in Leeds or somewhere can be a right pain." 

"Well, with your brother out of action for a few more weeks that won't be a problem." 

"I guess not." Charlie hesitated. "Is it all right if I take the job? If they offer it to me, that it." 

"Why are you asking me?" 

"Well, because of this... um... agreement thing. I'd be working seven till four. Maybe Saturdays too." 

McManus frowned as he thought. "As long as you can start work after the first of September. You're mine until then." 

"Oh." Charlie hadn't actually expected him to say that. "OK, I'll tell them... though it might make trouble at the job centre." 

"Not my problem, kid. Tell them you're ill, or away or something." 

Chris coughed, and McManus looked at his watch. "Aye, it's time." He turned to Charlie. "Since you're here, you can make yourself useful. Chris and I need to go and do something and Ken's away out. You mind the phone. If anyone calls, take their name and number and tell them we'll ring back tomorrow, got it?" 

"Yes, I think so," said Charlie, a little confused. "Couldn't I come with you?" 

McManus's face hardened. "No, son, you'll have nothing to do with this. And don't ask questions - you may not like the answers." He turned to Chris. "Ready?" 

"Aye." Chris was as non-committal as always. 

"We'll be back in an hour or two. Don't leave here and don't open the door to anyone but us. And don't even think about trying to get into the files." He didn't elaborate, but then he didn't have to. Charlie's imagination could easily provide the "or else" for himself. 

Charlie swallowed and nodded. McManus stepped out, followed by Chris, who shut the door firmly behind him, and Charlie was left standing on his own in the middle of the room. 

"Well, I guess I'll stay here for a bit," he said out loud, putting the phone back in his pocket. 

He strolled around the office, asking himself how Chris could stand to work in such a dingy environment. As he walked behind the desk he tried moving the mouse, but the computer was password-protected, so he left it alone. He did a little exploration of the desk drawers, but found nothing of interest. He looked into McManus's office, but there was nothing there either. It was a slightly more attractive office, though, with a better view. He gave the filing cabinet drawer a gentle tug, just for curiosity's sake, but it was locked. He spent a few minutes looking down at the busy street before wandering back into the reception room. 

He sat down at the desk, twirling around in circles on the chair. After a few minutes he was bored enough to give the magazines another try, but they were just as bad as before. He recalled seeing a book in one of the desk drawers and pulled it out - a well-thumbed copy of Tolstoy's _War and Peace._ It puzzled him - he found it difficult to reconcile the taciturn and monosyllabic Chris with the verbose Russian. He wondered if it might be one of McManus's books instead, but the flyleaf held the name 'Christopher Morrison', printed in small, even letters. 

He started to read, but found his interest flagging by the end of the first page. Still, it was better than the World's Most Boring Magazine and he persevered for a few more pages. He was happy to be interrupted by a phone call, and, as instructed, he took down the name and number and told the caller in his most professional tone that Mr McManus's assistant would call him back in the morning. 

He put the phone down and looked at the book with distaste. He really couldn't summon up any interest in Russian aristocrats, and put it back in the drawer. There was a small jotter pad beside the telephone, so he took a pencil from the drawer and started to write down a couple of chord progressions that had been running around his head all day. Soon he was humming and trying to imagine a melody line on top, but it was very difficult without actually hearing it. He wondered if he'd ever get his precious guitar back, and jabbed the pencil into the jotter, breaking the point right off. Since another search of the drawers failed to reveal a pencil sharpener, he tore the page off the pad, screwed it up and threw it into the wastepaper bin. So much for that. 

He made another circuit of the office, but found nothing new. Eventually, running out of things to do, he put his feet on the desk, tipped the chair back and attempted to catch up on some of the sleep he'd missed over the last few nights. 

~~~~~ 

It was close to six o'clock when McManus and Chris returned. Charlie woke up when he heard the key turning in the lock, and straightened up, rubbing his neck. Both men were very sombre, and Charlie gathered that whatever they had been doing, it hadn't gone well. Chris had a couple of bruises on his hands, and McManus looked a bit ruffled, as if someone had tried to lift him up by the scruff of his neck. 

McManus went straight into his office and shut the door. Chris came over to the desk and Charlie hurriedly got out up and moved around to the other side, glad that he'd put the book away just as he'd found it. He told Chris about the one call that he'd received, then went to sit over by the wall. 

He could hear that McManus was on the phone to someone, and it wasn't a particularly pleasant conversation, from the sound of it. Charlie could hear the tone (the Glasgow accent sounding even more harsh than usual) but couldn't make out the words until the very end, when he distinctly heard McManus say "Well, if you want your fucking money you can come and get it yourself!" 

The door opened and it was definitely The Shark who came out, eyes flashing and chest heaving. 

Chris looked up. "You told him, then?" 

McManus nodded. "I did." 

"And is Himself coming down?" 

"No." McManus flicked an eye at Charlie, as if he would have said more if they'd been alone. 

Charlie took the hint and said, "I can go outside if you need to talk." 

McManus nodded, so Charlie went outside and closed the door behind him. He heard McManus and Chris talking in low tones but, as before, he couldn't make out the words. He slid down the wall and sat with his forearms on his knees until McManus came out a few minutes later. 

McManus looked a little calmer and his voice had returned to normal. "Time we were going, lad." 

Charlie scrambled up and McManus glanced back into the office. "See you in the morning, Chris." 

"Aye." 

McManus ushered Charlie out of the building and down to the car. There wasn't much conversation on the journey to Whitefield - McManus had turned on the radio and looked lost in his own thoughts. Charlie wondered what they had been doing that afternoon, and who "Himself" might be. From what he'd heard in the office and the look on McManus's face, he had the impression that he didn't want to find out. 

~~~~~ 

As soon as they got in, McManus went to the phone and ordered a couple of pizzas, then poured himself a glass of whisky and drained it. He took out twenty pounds from his wallet and handed it to Charlie, telling him to pay for the pizzas if they arrived before he was back. He showed Charlie how to work the intercom and buzzer, and then headed upstairs. 

Charlie heard the shower running shortly afterwards, and he wondered once more what had happened that afternoon that made the man so keen to wash to day off the moment he got home. 

He made himself a cup of coffee and sat down to wait for the pizzas and McManus. The food arrived first, and Charlie had kicked the door shut and was wondering where to put the boxes when McManus came down the stairs, dressed in an old T-shirt and a pair of board shorts. 

"Kitchen," he said, curtly, and Charlie obediently turned and followed him. He put the boxes and the change on the table but wasn't sure what to do next, so he just stood and watched as McManus grabbed a couple of plates and some paper towels and threw them on the table. He disappeared into the next room and came back with another glass of whisky. 

"Dig in," said McManus, reaching for a slice. 

Charlie didn't need to be told twice - he hadn't had any lunch and was starving. They ate in what was a relatively companionable silence for several minutes. Charlie had demolished about three-quarters of a pizza and was going back for more when he realised that McManus had finished and was just sitting there watching him. He put down the piece he had just picked up. "Upstairs?" he asked, and McManus just nodded. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped off his hands and face, then decided that he'd better rinse his mouth out with a glass of water - just in case - before following McManus out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom. 

It seemed to him that McManus was moving a little stiffly, in spite of the shower. He was moving his neck this way and that, apparently trying to stretch some of the kinks out his neck and shoulder muscles. 

"Would you like me to give you a back rub?" Charlie asked him. "I'm good at it, and it looks like you're a bit sore." 

McManus was nodding before he'd even finished speaking. "Good idea." He took off his T-shirt and lay face down on the bed, wriggling a little until he got into a comfortable position. 

Charlie sat down beside him, looking at the man's shoulders. He wasn't sure where to start, at first, so he placed his hands gently on either side of the neck and stroked down and over the shoulders and back, trying to get an idea of where the knots were. McManus's skin was warm and dry, and it felt good as he started to press a little more deeply. The spicy, sandalwood-and-citrus scent from his soap and shampoo drifted up in the warmth of the evening, and Charlie inhaled appreciatively. 

McManus gave an encouraging sound and Charlie continued, finding the knots around the shoulders and upper back and kneading them until they released. After a few minutes his own back was aching from leaning over to one side, so he got up on the bed and straddled McManus's hips. The new angle gave him much more power to work the sore muscles, and McManus responded with a throaty moan that sounded almost like he was purring. Charlie smiled at the thought and kept going. 

Charlie enjoyed giving back rubs. He liked the feel of warm skin and flesh beneath his fingers, the way he could mould and press and deform the tissue until it submitted to his will. He liked being able to make people feel comfortable and relaxed, taking away their pain and tension and replacing it with contentment and well-being. He liked the way his hands could turn bad tempers into good, or send an insomniac to sleep. He was amazed at the way pressure on one trigger point could release the spasm in someone's neck or shoulder and restore their full range of motion. It was the closest he could come to magic, and he loved it. 

After about twenty minutes of dedicated attention, McManus was much more relaxed, and smiled sleepily when Charlie prodded him to roll over. "That was good," he murmured, reaching for Charlie and running the back of his hand lightly over Charlie's arm. 

Charlie couldn't help smiling broadly at the compliment, however mild. "Do you want anything else?" he asked. 

"Mmm... well, since you're offering..." McManus answered, his meaning clear by the way his hand cupped his crotch. 

Silently congratulating himself for having rinsed the taste of jalapenos out of his mouth, Charlie pulled down the board shorts and positioned himself between McManus's legs. After the backrub and the whisky it appeared that McManus was relaxed _everywhere,_ and Charlie at first despaired of achieving any result at all, but eventually his hands and tongue worked their own type of magic and McManus was straining up into his mouth and moaning. From this angle, Charlie found the man's climax was easy to contain and swallow, a welcome change from the last time. He sat up and watched as McManus sighed, mumbled something that ended in "good, yeah," and fell asleep without opening his eyes or losing the slight smile on his face. 

Charlie got up, stripped off his clothing and got into the other side of the bed. It wasn't long before he was asleep either. 

  


_Tuesday 03 August_

The alarm's shrill tones woke them both at seven. McManus groaned and made vague flailing movements in the general direction of the alarm, but he missed the clock entirely and it kept on ringing until Charlie crawled over McManus and pressed the button himself. 

In the sudden silence Charlie realised that he was bending over McManus and that his boxers, tented out by his usual morning erection, were hovering very close to McManus's face. 

McManus raised an eyebrow. "You're not trying to give me ideas, are you? Because if you are, you've got a fucking twisted sense of humour." 

His tone was without malice, but Charlie backed away hurriedly. "No, no," he said, "I just wanted to help. With the alarm, that is. That's all." 

McManus attempted a chuckle, but stopped almost immediately. "Christ! My head feels like it's going to explode." He groaned, clutching both hands to his head. "Must have been that bloody pizza. I'm as dry as a bone." 

"I'll go down and get you a glass of water." 

"I need aspirin." 

"Where is it?" 

"Bathroom cabinet." 

"I'll get them. You stay there." 

Charlie returned a couple of minutes later with a large glass of water and a box of aspirin tablets. He watched as McManus slowly dragged himself to a sitting position and took the tablets, draining the glass in one go, and told himself he should have brought a jug. He ran a face flannel under the cold tap for a minute, wrung it out and placed it gently over McManus's forehead. 

"There, you'll feel better soon. I'll make you some tea if you'd like, and some toast. Bring it up to you. Breakfast in bed, like. No expense spared." 

McManus sighed, in a mixture of relief and exasperation. "What do you want, Charlie?" 

Charlie flushed - he didn't think he'd been that obvious. "Well... I have that interview this morning, and... well, I was wondering if you'd have a spare razor I could use. So I don't look too scruffy." 

"There's a packet of disposables somewhere in the main bathroom. You can use one of them." 

"Thanks!" Charlie beamed at him, and was about to head out of the door to get them when he was stopped by a word from McManus. 

"I'll have that pot of tea, lad. And marmalade on my toast." He sagged back onto the pillows. 

"Sure," Charlie agreed, and strode out of the room. 

~~~~~ 

By half past eight they were on the road into town, moving slowly through the morning traffic. Rory's headache had responded to the painkillers, and Charlie had made good use of the disposable razor and some of Rory's aftershave. His shirt wasn't the freshest, but at least it wasn't torn or stained, and he figured he'd get by. 

"Do you want me to drop by at the office later?" Charlie asked as they drew into the city. 

"No." 

"Oh. OK. I'll go home afterwards, wait for the phone call, shall I?" 

"Not tonight, kid, I'm busy. I'll call you tomorrow." 

"Really?" 

"Really." He didn't give any further explanation, and Charlie was reluctant to ask any more questions. 

They reached the city a little before nine. Charlie got out at Cateaton St and headed for the bus interchange. He had mixed feelings about the day ahead: on the one hand, he was quite excited at the prospect of an evening to himself, for a change; on the other hand, he still had to deal with Liam, whose temper was unlikely to have improved since the day before. Added to that, he had no idea if there was any food in the flat. Or any beer, for that matter. 

Oh well. At least he could have a sleep-in the next day, since it wasn't a signing-on day. And if he was really, really lucky, he might not have to sign on again. 

~~~~~ 

At approximately 7pm that evening Charlie gave serious thought to ringing McManus and asking if he could go over for the night. 

By 8pm he wondered if McManus might let him stay for the rest of the month. 

It wasn't that Liam was being particularly violent, though he'd had to fend off a couple of blows when Liam had come in, it was just the incessant comments about "his boyfriend", or the way that Liam could work certain words into his conversation, like "rent boy" or "cocksucking" or "debt". Liam had never been one to suffer embarrassment easily, and it was obvious that the general resentment he had felt for McManus before was now becoming personal and more focussed. It was also clear that he considered Charlie to be sleeping with the enemy - literally - and seemed to have forgotten that he had agreed and even encouraged the arrangement made the previous week. 

Charlie sighed. Sometimes Liam wasn't very logical. 

He had just about reached screaming point when one of Liam's girls had rung and Liam had disappeared into the night, leaving Charlie with a somewhat bemused Ben, who didn't seem particularly interested in what had been going on, which Charlie considered a distinct blessing. 

There was no TV, of course, and no radio, so the flat was eerily silent once Liam had gone. Charlie tried to read, but he couldn't concentrate. He checked the fridge again but there was still no beer, so he made a strong cup of instant coffee instead, and then went back to the book. He tried not to think wistfully of Rory's malt whisky, or the spicy Thai food they'd shared, or the way that Rory had smiled at him, half-asleep after last night's backrub. 

He blinked. When had McManus become Rory? 


	8. Chapter 8

_Friday 06 August 2 pm_

Charlie threw the mobile phone onto the bed and looked at his meagre wardrobe with a sigh. This was going to be tricky. He'd just been told to be at the office at 6 pm, and while that was nothing unusual - he'd had similar messages the last couple of days - this time, McManus had specifically told Charlie to wear 'something nice', which left him a little worried. Apart from the fact that his definition of 'nice' was a little more elastic than McManus's, recent events had taken their toll on his clothes. He pulled out everything he had that might meet the definition and surveyed the clothes laid out on the bed with a worried frown. 

Both his white button-down shirts were in need of repair. One was torn at the back, from having been forced up against the brick wall a week ago, and the other had two buttons missing after McManus had become a little eager to get his clothes off on Wednesday. He had a black button-down with red top-stitching and a logo picked out in rhinestones that he'd last worn to Churchill's a few weeks ago, but he didn't think McManus would approve of that one, and all the rest were T-shirts or rugby shirts. Of his trousers, he had one good pair of navy slacks that really needed dry-cleaning (though how he was ever going to afford that, he had no idea - he'd have to ask his Mum to take it in with her stuff), his leather trousers (the scratches now disguised by black marker pen) and three pairs of jeans, in varying states of cleanliness. 

He took out his wallet and inspected the contents, feeling once again the burning resentment at being on the dole and having to watch every single penny. Would it be cheaper to buy two buttons, a packet of needles, and a spool of white thread, or to catch the bus up to his parents' house and then back into the city? He guessed it would cost about the same. If he went to his parents, though, he could take his slacks and ask Mum to get them cleaned, so he'd save more in the long run. And he if he took a load of washing as well, he'd save on the laundromat. Right then, he nodded to himself, at least that decision was easy - his parents' house it was. 

He checked his watch - he'd have to get a move on if he was to be back in the city by 6. He grabbed a sports bag and started throwing clothes into it. 

~~~~~ 

A couple of hours later he was sitting in the kitchen, tying off the knot on the second button, when Tessa walked in. 

"Hi, Charlie." 

"Hi, Tess." 

She put her bag and a magazine down on the bench and poured herself a glass of cold water from the fridge. She frowned at the mess Charlie had made when he'd scattered the contents of the sewing basket all over the table. "What are you doing?" she asked, looking askance at the pile of fabric in his hand. 

"Baking a cake," he snorted. "What does it look like, idiot? I'm mending my shirts." 

"Have you got a date, or something?" 

Charlie sighed. "Something like that." 

He shook out the folds and examined his work critically. The buttons weren't a perfect match, and the stitches were a bit lumpy, but it would have to do. The other repair was less successful - he'd mended the tear, but the fabric was all bunched and puckered, making it look even worse. 

He got up and went through to the laundry to iron it. 

"Oy, Charlie." 

"Yes?" 

"Are you going to leave all this out here? Mum'll go ballistic." 

Muttering under his breath, he went back and piled all the sewing materials back into the basket. Tess sat down and started to read her magazine. 

"Tess?" 

"Mmm?" 

"Could you tell Mum I've left a pair of trousers here for the dry-cleaners?" 

"OK." 

"And I've put a load through the wash - I'll get them into the dryer but I can't hang around, so I'll pick them up on Sunday, OK?" 

"Whatever." She went back to her magazine. 

Charlie managed to iron both shirts without burning anything - a significant achievement - and even found a couple of hangers. He wandered back into the kitchen and hung the shirts up on a convenient drawer handle while he checked the fridge for food. He'd finished the cold meat, but there might be some cheese... 

"Charlie!" 

"What?" He straightened up fast, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the shelf. 

Tess was holding up one of the recently-mended shirts, subjecting Charlie's handiwork to a critical examination. "You can't honestly be going to wear this?" 

"What of it?" "It's all puckered where you've tried to mend it. Just look at it!" She held it out at arms' length, horrified. 

"Well, it's the best I can do," Charlie said, a little red-faced, grabbing it from her. "Oh, bugger, now it's all creased - I'll have to iron it again." 

Theresa was looking at him with that peculiar mix of disgust, affection and sheer frustration that he'd seen on his Mum's face. "Oh, give it here," she sighed, taking it back from him. "Honestly, you can't leave it like that - it's awful. I'll fix it for you. Mum's got some special fusible stuff that'll help. It won't be invisible, but it’ll be a lot better than that." 

"Really?" Charlie couldn't believe his luck. Theresa didn't often help him, and this would mean an awful lot, since he couldn't afford to replace the shirt until he got a new job. 

"Yes, really. Honestly, I don’t know how you men manage, sometimes." 

"We find pretty girls to do our mending." He grinned at her. 

"Hah." 

He glanced at the clock, and realised he'd wasted far too much time already - he was going to have to get a move on. He picked up the remaining white shirt and the leather trousers he'd remembered to bring with him and he headed upstairs. He changed in Kevin's room (since Bridget was now using the one that used to be his and Liam's), and then ran back down to throw his T-shirt and jeans into the laundry basket - with a little luck they'd be washed and dried by Sunday, too. 

The kitchen was empty, but he knew Tess would still be around somewhere. 

"I'm off, Tess," he called. 

"Bye." The voice came from the lounge and Charlie stuck his head through the door. 

"Don't forget to tell Mum about the dry-cleaning." 

"OK." She looked up and smiled. 

"And thanks for offering to mend the shirt." 

"No problem. See you Sunday." 

"Yeah, see you then." 

He stepped out of the house and ran for the bus. 

~~~~~ 

As Charlie had predicted, McManus was not impressed with his shirt. 

"Those buttons don't match," he said in a quelling tone. 

"Look, I'm sorry, but I don't have anything else to wear," Charlie protested, standing in the middle of the waiting room. "My sister's mending my other good shirt, and that's all I've got." 

"Buy another one." 

Charlie flushed and looked down, not wanting to meet McManus's eyes as he said, "Can't. On the dole, remember? I've no savings left at all. Couldn't even afford to get the trousers dry-cleaned - I had to leave them with Mum." 

"What about that job you applied for?" 

"I didn't get it - they called me this morning. They took someone else." His breath hitched as he made the admission, and he turned away so that McManus couldn't see how it had affected him. Funny how it never seemed to get any easier, being told you weren't wanted. And now that he really _needed_ a job the rejection had stung him deeply, and he'd almost thrown the phone at the wall. 

McManus said nothing. When Charlie looked up at him, he was standing motionless, lips pursed, obviously considering some course of action in his head. Eventually he gave Charlie a long-suffering look, sighed, and said "Let's go. We'll talk later." 

They had just opened the door when the phone in McManus's office rang. Chris looked up at McManus, who shook his head, then pressed a couple of buttons and took the call. 

"McManus and Son, good afternoon. No, I'm sorry, Mr McManus, he's just left for the day. Can I get him to call you? Aye, of course." He put the phone down, and gave McManus an apologetic look. "He said he'll call you on the mobile." 

"Fucking shite. I don't have time for this." He spoke in an undertone, but there was no disguising the vehemence. He held out his car keys to Charlie. "The car's in the basement. Get it and bring it around the front. There's a loading zone you can wait in." 

"OK." Charlie took the keys and headed for the stairs. He had barely taken three steps when McManus' mobile phone rang. He stopped and looked back, but McManus waved him off, and he headed for the stairs. Behind him he heard McManus answering the phone, his voice abrupt and unwelcoming and his accent rapidly becoming thicker than Charlie had ever heard it before. 

"Rory McManus. Aye, Da, how are you? No, I left a wee while ago." There was a short pause as McManus listened to his father. The door started to close but Charlie still caught the next phrase before it shut completely: "Och, Da, it's six o'clock on a Friday, ye ken, an' I'm no' bloody wedded to the office." 

Charlie grinned to himself as he hurried down the stairs to the basement. It was funny to hear McManus on the defensive, making excuses to his father like anyone else - he could almost sympathise with the man. 

The car park wasn't large, but it took him a while to find the dark blue Camry, which was tucked into a dim alcove. "Yeah, nice and anonymous," he muttered to himself. "Bloody impossible if you ask me. Why can't he drive a flashy gold Rolls-Royce like any other self-respecting criminal?" 

Once found, though, he had to admit that the Camry was easily manoeuvred out of its space and up the exit ramp. He came out of the building into the narrow lane that ran split the block in half, and turned left. As he pulled up outside the main entrance to the office he saw McManus waiting for him, looking even grimmer than before. He wasn't surprised to see McManus pull open the passenger door and slide in without a word. 

"Where to?" 

"Just drive." McManus was leaning back against the headrest, his eyes closed. He looked tired, and Charlie wondered what the phone call had entailed. 

"You've got to tell me more than that, man. North? South? East? West?" 

"Just fucking drive. I don't care." McManus snapped, his eyes still closed. "South." 

"OK. South it is." 

Charlie flicked the indicator, turned the car left into Princess St and took the A34 out of the city. The streets were still congested with Friday rush hour traffic and progress was slow at first. A glance to the left showed him that McManus was staring straight ahead, the frown still fixed to his face, one hand picking at a loose thread on the seatbelt. Charlie didn't speak, guessing that McManus didn't want to be disturbed, but concentrated on his driving, trying to smooth out the car's stop-start progress through the city streets. He drove past the M60 orbital and the turn-off to the airport, and after that it wasn't long before they left the city and the suburbs behind, travelling instead through farmland and forest. 

A-road or not, there were a few twists and turns to be negotiated, but the Camry was a lot easier to handle than his father's monstrosity (a 1988 Volvo) and gave him no problems. The landscape to his left was glowing in the early evening sun, while the view to the right was veiled in the lengthening shadows. Charlie felt absurdly happy for no reason at all, and smiled as the car ate up the miles. 

McManus hadn't said another word since getting into the car. He appeared to have fallen asleep, or maybe he was just thinking. Charlie risked a slightly longer look. No, he was definitely asleep - leaning back, eyes closed, hands relaxed and curled loosely in his lap. In repose, his face lost the hard expression he habitually wore, making him look younger and more vulnerable. He looked tired, as well, as if he didn't sleep at all on the nights Charlie wasn't with him. 

Charlie wondered, briefly, about the business McManus ran. He'd never seen any evidence of the legitimate side, the office and domestic cleaning services that were supposedly supplied by the company, and he wondered if that part actually existed. Of McManus's money-lending activities, he'd seen plenty, but he had no illusions that he'd seen the full extent of it, or the worst of it. He was beginning to suspect that however bad his own case was, he and Liam were getting off fairly lightly in comparison with some of McManus's defaulting debtors. 

And then there was McManus Senior to consider. Twice he'd heard fragments of conversation that suggested McManus and his father did not get on well. Perhaps he resented being under his father's control - well, Charlie could sympathise with that, since he'd hate to have to work for his own father. Or perhaps McManus's side of the business wasn't making as much money as his father expected - there was that incident the previous Monday where things obviously hadn't gone as planned, for instance, and McManus had shouted down the telephone. 

He wondered what roles Ken and Chris played in the organisation - beyond the obvious, that is. He hadn't seen much of Ken lately, but he'd seen a fair bit of Chris, and he couldn't quite work out the relationship between McManus and Chris. Chris was always deferential, but not exactly subservient - definitely not the stereotypical gangster's sidekick. Was he employed by McManus senior or junior? Charlie wasn't sure. Chris was a bit older than McManus - middle or late thirties - and had a Glasgow accent, which should mean he was McManus Senior's man. Ken was about thirty and had a Manchester accent, and had obviously been hired by McManus, so that should make him McManus's man. But somehow he felt that logic had got it wrong in this case - it just didn't feel right. Chris was the one that McManus took with him more than Ken, and Chris was the one who stayed in the room while Ken minded the door, so he was presumably the more trusted one. It certainly wasn't as simple as it looked at first glance. 

He put the problem aside for the moment and continued driving south, following the signs that said A34 whenever he came to a junction. The sun drifted down towards the hills on his right and the air became golden, making everything outside look even warmer than it was already. Charlie adjusted the air-conditioning as the sun poured in through the windows and made him sweat - dark blue might be anonymous but it certainly absorbed the heat. 

Half an hour later, the sun was just setting when he got to the nest of roundabouts leading into Newcastle-under-Lyme. He had a few sticky moments there, and went around a couple of them twice, but eventually he found himself back on the right road. He glanced to his left, but McManus hadn’t even stirred. 

He saw a sign for Wolverhampton, and wondered if he should just stop in a by-way or a village somewhere. He was getting tired - he hadn't ever driven for so long a time at once - and surely McManus hadn't meant them to go so far out of Manchester? He checked the petrol gauge, which still showed more than half a tank. They could probably get to Portsmouth on that, he mused, and gave a quiet chuckle to himself as he contemplated McManus's reaction to waking up on a ferry to the continent. Er... on second thoughts, maybe not. OK. He'd drive south as far as he could and stop at Portsmouth, or if the car needed refilling, or if McManus woke up, whichever one came first. 

As it turned out, McManus woke up about ten minutes later, when he had to put the brakes on suddenly to avoid a lorry that pulled out in front of him. The brakes squealed and the seatbelt bit painfully into his shoulder as the car slowed. 

"Fucking mongrel," Charlie cursed the lorry driver. "Couldn't you wait just a few more seconds for me to go past?" 

He heard McManus straighten up and look around. 

"Sorry about that," he said, his eyes fixed on the road. "Welcome back to the land of the living." 

"Where are we?" 

"Coming up on Birmingham." 

"What?!" 

"You've been asleep for a while." 

"Oh, fuck." McManus looked at his watch, cursed again, and fumbled for his phone, jabbing at the numbers in hurried sequence. "David. It's McManus. I know, I know. Look, I'm in Birmingham. Yeah, long story. I'm not going to make it back to Manchester tonight, so we'll have to re-schedule. Mmm... not sure. Better make it Monday. Yeah, OK. Bye." He put the phone back in his jacket pocket and looked over at Charlie. "Birmingham?" 

Charlie's grip on the steering wheel tightened a little, though he could tell that McManus wasn't really angry. "Well, you said to drive south, so that's what I was doing." He gave a tentative grin. "I was going to stop at Portsmouth, though, in case you were wondering. Didn't think you'd fancy waking up in France." 

"No. Don't speak French." 

"Neither do I. Would be fun, though." 

McManus tried to stretch as best he could while still confined by the seatbelt, then rubbed his shoulder. "I think my idea of fun is more along the lines of a meal, some petrol and a fast drive back to Manchester." 

Charlie didn't think much of that idea. He was tired from so much driving already and he honestly didn't know if McManus was proposing to drive back himself or to make Charlie do it. "Well, I wouldn't say no to the meal, but is there any particular reason to hurry back?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Why not stay here the night? Have a meal, yeah, then maybe go to a club, have a few drinks, find a hotel, drive home in the morning. More relaxing than getting back to Manchester at midnight. But it's your decision - your money, anyway." 

McManus was silent. Charlie waited it out patiently. He was getting used to the fact that McManus rarely made snap decisions - there was always a minute or two of consideration before he decided on any course of action. 

"Aye, why not," breathed McManus at last. "I've no reason to be back tonight. I don't know Birmingham, though - do you?" 

"Not at all. It'll be an adventure." He said it with a grin and was surprised to see it answered by a quizzical look on McManus's face. 

"An adventure?" McManus echoed. "I hardly think that getting lost in Birmingham qualifies as an adventure." 

"Who says we're going to get lost? They do sell street maps in Birmingham, you know." Charlie was grinning widely, now that he was confident that McManus wasn't going to be moody and bad-tempered. "Or we could explore the countryside." 

"If you think I'm going on some sort of safari into the deepest darkest wilds of the midlands, you've got another think coming, lad. Cities I can cope with. Even cities I'm about to get lost in. But I draw the line at anything that might be labelled _Nature."_

"All right. But look on the bright side - if we don't know Birmingham, Birmingham doesn't know us. If we wanted to, we could do something really wild and no one would care." 

"Something wild? Like what?" 

"Like... run naked down the main street. Climb a fountain. Steal a policeman's helmet. Drive 'round and 'round the square singing Monty Python songs." 

McManus gave him a jaundiced look, and muttered "Students," under his breath. Aloud, he said, "I think you'd find people would care about that." 

"Well, all right then, maybe something a bit less likely to get us arrested... Gay bar?" 

"No." 

"No?" 

"No." 

"You're no fun." 

"I'm sober." 

"Does that mean you're fun when you're drunk? I haven't seen you drunk." 

"No, I'm no fun when I'm drunk either." 

Charlie sighed. "All right then. Plan C: good meal, few drinks, quiet hotel. OK?" 

"Sounds more like it." 

"Sounds boring, more like it," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard. 

McManus ignored him, stretching his neck, trying to ease out the kinks. "I don't think my neck liked me sleeping in the car," he grumbled. 

Charlie sympathised. "I could give you a neck rub," he offered, though why he was offering to be nice to someone who was planning the Most Boring Night in England he had no idea. 

McManus looked at him like a puppy who'd just been promised a walk. "Really? That would be smashing." 

"You got it." Charlie smiled at him indulgently. 

McManus smiled back - a wide, open, delighted smile - and Charlie felt his heart lurch. It was the first time he'd ever seen a full, genuine smile on the man's face, and it hit him right in the gut. He inhaled sharply and gripped the steering wheel. Driving along an unfamiliar road was not the best time to have a spasm of lust, but he really couldn't help it: the man had no right to be suddenly so damned attractive! 

He forced his attention back onto the road. 

~~~~~ 

In the end, Charlie's confidence was justified. A friendly petrol station attendant gave them the name of a small hotel with parking, just off Suffolk St in the city centre, and the hotel concierge was sympathetic to their story of a business meeting gone overtime. Very shortly they found themselves in a quiet room on a non-smoking floor facing away from the street. 

There was a bistro in the next block, where the food was excellent and cheap (though the wines, McManus said, were over-priced piss) and the atmosphere congenial. The waiter was so camp that they didn't need Charlie's finely-honed intuition to work out his orientation, but he was attentive without being intrusive, and his recommendation from the menu was superb. Charlie took the opportunity of a quick trip to the gents to ask him for directions to the nearest late-night chemist. Once he had those memorised, he asked, "Where can we go to have a few drinks and maybe a dance?" 

"Oh, just turn left when you get out of here and keep walking - you'll find all sorts of places. The gay district's about a quarter of a mile down the road in Hurst St." 

"Thanks, but I doubt we'll be heading that far." 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought... well, I thought you were a couple." 

Charlie smiled ruefully. "Not precisely." He didn't elaborate, but headed back to his seat and relayed the waiter's information to McManus. 

McManus still wasn't all that keen on walking any great distance - and was still firmly against the gay bar idea - but he was even less keen on drinking beer at hotel prices, so they followed the waiter's directions and they soon found a lively tavern-cum-nightclub where the beat of the music could be heard clearly from the street. Charlie grinned to himself as McManus made sure there were both sexes present before agreeing to enter, and chose not to inform him that several of the men were definitely gay. Probably some of the women were, too, but his senses weren't as well-tuned to that. 

They went inside, McManus still grumbling at the cover charge, and made a beeline for the bar. McManus shook his head sadly when he saw the truly appalling range of beer available, and swore when he saw the prices for spirits. "I thought this was supposed to be cheap!" he muttered. 

"Fashion is never cheap," said Charlie. And we're in now, so there's no point in wasting the cover charge just to go somewhere else." 

After a few moments' careful deliberation, McManus bought them each a bottle of Cascade Premium Lager and they made their way to a table that was just being vacated by a group of very drunk teenagers. 

"Fucking Australian beer," muttered McManus as he sat down. "I hate Australian beer." He looked morosely at the glass. 

"It's not so bad," said Charlie after his first mouthful. "Better than Foster's." 

"Fucking horse piss would be better than Foster's," grumbled McManus, but he took a sip anyway, and his expression lightened a fraction. He said nothing more, but his second sip was taken with a little more enthusiasm than the first, and before long the glass was empty. Without another word he got up and brought back another two bottles. 

"Thanks," said Charlie, smiling as McManus pushed one of the bottle over to him. 

"Make the most of it, lad, you're driving, remember." 

"I'll work it off." He grinned as he poured out the fresh beer and took a mouthful. Really, it wasn't that bad at all. 

"That you will." McManus smirked. 

Charlie flushed. "I meant that I'd dance it off." 

McManus looked around at the people on the dance floor. There were lots of people out there, both men and women, and from here it was hard to tell who was dancing with whom. There were a few people in outlandish gear - goths, punks, bikie-leather types - but most people were in "normal" club attire, gyrating more-or-less purposefully to the beat of the music. He looked back at Charlie. "Going to dance on your own then? 'Cos I'm not getting up there with you." 

Charlie gave a slow, sultry smile. "Just watch me." He put his beer down beside McManus's and moved towards the dance floor, though he was moving in time with the music long before he got there. He felt the music flow through him and let himself go, hips swaying, arms rising up and eyes half closing. His path soon crossed that of a tall, well-built blond, wearing a tight red T-shirt and tighter jeans. 

"Well, who are you, pretty boy?" 

"Name's Charlie." 

"You're new." 

"Just visiting. Manchester." 

They angled towards each other and danced in time for a few minutes but Charlie wasn't really interested in him and he let his attention wander, his eyes roving over the crowd, taking in the variety of clothing and make-up and physique on display. 

"Looking for anyone? Or... anything?" The blond sounded a tad petulant. 

"No, not tonight - just dancing. Sorry." 

"Shame. Let me know if you change you mind. I'm Tim." 

"Sure, Tim." 

They drifted apart, and Charlie moved on, undulating and twisting his way round the floor like an eel in a pond, stopping to flirt with a dancer here or there, but never staying with one person for more than a minute. He wasn't on the pull, after all. He didn't need to make a good impression, didn't need to be on the lookout for that spark of interest - he already had a partner for the night (even if he didn't have much choice in the matter) and it left him free simply to enjoy the music and dancing. 

He glanced back at McManus from time to time, but the man was just sitting at the table, sipping at his beer and watching the dancers - well, Charlie, anyway - intently. At one point Charlie caught a glimpse of someone talking to him, but when he looked again the man had gone and McManus was scowling into his glass. Eventually Charlie's gyrations brought him back around to McManus's side of the room and he flopped down into the chair with an exaggerated sigh and grabbed his half-empty glass of beer. 

"Worn out already, are you?" 

"Just getting started, mate. I could go all night." He took a swallow from the glass and stood up gain. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "Dance with me." 

"No." 

"Oh, come on. Please? No one will see you but me." He batted his eyelashes and smiled at McManus, hoping to make him change his mind. He felt really good tonight. He hadn't been clubbing in ages and was getting high just on the atmosphere. He wanted McManus to have a good time too, to make him feel some of the adrenaline along with him, maybe get him revved up a little before going to bed. He added a sexy little pout for good measure. 

"I'm not your fucking boyfriend," McManus spat out, "so don't act like it. I told you, I don't dance. Now finish your drink and follow me, 'cos you've reminded me why I brought you." He stood and headed for the toilets, the set of his shoulders not auguring well for the rest of the evening. 

Charlie felt himself brought back to earth with a thud. He stared, stunned, at McManus's retreating back and then shook his head. _Every fucking time,_ he thought. _Every time I think he's not so bad, he goes and gives me a slap in the face._ He drained his glass and set it back on the table with a slam, then followed McManus. 

The toilets had obviously started the evening off bright and clean, but now, at nearly midnight, they were littered with rubbish - scraps of toilet paper, sweet-wrappers, cigarette packets and - yeuch - a used condom. The air-fresheners couldn't quite neutralise the smell of stale urine and someone's putrid bowel movement. Charlie wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

McManus had strode into the handicapped stall, and held the door open. Charlie gave a sideways look at two men standing by the urinal, but neither of them seemed to be paying him any attention. Then he heard the a deep groan and a muttered "Yes, right there," from one of the other stalls, and realised that two men in one cubicle was hardly a novelty here. 

McManus closed and locked the door behind him, then gestured to his belt. Charlie undid the belt and the trousers, then knelt down, thankful that this patch of floor, at least, seemed reasonably clean. He eased the trousers down over McManus's hips and reached into the navy silk boxers (did the man buy any other colour? he wondered) to bring out the cock that was only just starting to stir. 

He wondered how pissed off McManus was with him. If he was seriously annoyed, there was every chance he'd grab Charlie's head and fuck him that way, and he really, really hated that. He sighed to himself. He'd just have to make it good for him... as usual. He gave McManus's cock a couple of long, slow pulls, then took it into his mouth. It wasn't long before it was hard and filling his mouth and throat, and Charlie slipped his hand in between McManus's legs to give his balls a gentle squeeze through the silk boxers. 

The sounds from the other cubicle were getting louder - like the soundtrack to a really bad porn film, thought Charlie. He felt absurdly grateful for the fact that McManus stayed silent as Charlie brought him to his climax, giving only a soft sigh as he let his breath out. 

McManus remained silent as Charlie adjusted his clothing for him, but once his belt was done up he grasped Charlie's arm and helped him up. He only said "Not bad," but the tone was mild, not disapproving, so Charlie smiled to himself as he rubbed his sore knees. 

As they walked out of the handicapped stall, they came face to face with someone coming in - a tall man, rat-faced, non-descript and almost totally forgettable, dressed in grey, with a chunky gold chain around his neck that made him look even more colourless. He looked at them, curiously, his eyes lingering on McManus for a moment, before moving past them to the urinals. 

"Come on," said McManus gruffly, and pushed Charlie out of the door. 


	9. Chapter 9

_Saturday 07 August - At a hotel in Birmingham_

Charlie woke, just after eight the next morning, to the sound of someone's suitcase being wheeled noisily down the hotel corridor. He was sleepy and listless, and he had absolutely no interest in getting up in the next few hours. He went to roll over, but he couldn't move - he was pinned down by a heavy weight. He opened his eyes to investigate this unusual phenomenon and found that McManus was curled up over his left shoulder and, more disturbingly, his own arm was wrapped around McManus's back. 

Well, that was a bit of a surprise. 

He made a couple of half-hearted attempts to push him away, but he simply moved a little closer. Any further effort was likely to wake him, and that was not a prospect that Charlie viewed with any enthusiasm. McManus was grumpy enough in the mornings as it was (well, the mornings Charlie had shared, anyway), and what he would say about waking up in Charlie's arms just didn't bear thinking about. Not to mention the fact that he'd undoubtedly twist it around so that it was all Charlie's fault. 

Charlie sighed, then relaxed into the pillow and resigned himself to a few more minutes of inactivity. He stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the ornate plaster decorations, and listened to the soft whuffle of McManus's breath. 

It didn't feel too bad, actually. Almost... cosy. 

He recoiled at the thought. "Cosy" and "Rory McManus" in the same context was simply wrong. Charlie grimaced and promised himself it wouldn't happen again. Still, it felt warm, and comfortable, and peaceful, and it had been a long, long time since Charlie had woken up with someone in his arms, so he figured he'd better enjoy it while he could... even if it was Rory. McManus, not Rory. He mustn't forget that. Charlie sighed again, softly, noting how the soft brown hair on McManus's head stirred in the gentle turbulence of his breath. With every glimpse that Charlie had of the man beneath the mask, it was getting more and more difficult to think of him as McManus, easier to use the simple Christian name. It was a nice name, Rory, he thought. Not at all threatening, not harsh or tough; a name more suited to whispered endearments than curses and insults. 

The last man he'd held like this was Richard, over a year ago. They'd only been together a year, and it had been the most wonderful year of his life, until Richard had told him that he had to join his uncle's firm after finishing at Uni. Charlie had honestly thought he'd never get over it. Well, he still wasn't over it, not really. He'd had a few one-night stands since then, but hadn't actually slept - slept through to morning - next to any man until now. He pondered that for a moment. Did that make McManus a lover, or not? It was an odd question to ponder at eight thirty on a Saturday morning in Birmingham, and he couldn't really answer it. 

He wished he knew more about what made the man tick. He was so difficult to predict - one moment he would be as cold and as sharp as a stiletto blade, and then at he'd be warm and... well, not quite affectionate, perhaps, but considerate. Sometimes he treated Charlie like a favourite pet, and sometimes like a slave. He was an enigma, alternately fascinating and frustrating. Charlie wondered if he'd get the chance to understand him better before the month was up, or if he'd go back to his family as confused as he was now. 

The soft susurration of McManus's breath was fanning over his chest every few seconds. He'd barely noticed it at first, but now the regular whisper of breath was teasing him, brushing over his skin and the scanty chest hairs, and causing a definite reaction in another part of his body. He smiled to himself. It wasn't as if a morning erection was an unknown in Charlie's experience - in fact, it featured heavily in most of the mornings in his life - but it was a little awkward to have a morning erection that was being made more... prominent with every minute, and not able to do anything about it. 

He wriggled a bit, trying to move McManus's head so that he wasn't breathing over that patch of skin anymore, but McManus simply shifted his head a little, nuzzled into Charlie's neck and settled down again, with his breath now passing directly over Charlie's left nipple. It wasn't exactly an improvement. 

Oh, well, he wasn't keen to move, anyway, not with his arse beginning to throb. It wasn't that McManus had been rough, but the KY jelly they'd bought at the chemist (the only lubricant available, unfortunately) wasn't as good as the stuff they usually used, with the result that he was a bit sore. He'd had worse, though, and survived it. And if he was lucky he'd be able talk McManus into accepting blow-jobs for the next couple of days. 

He stared up at the ceiling as he remembered the night before, in the night club. All right, so he'd been teasing a little, he accepted that, but he still couldn't work out why McManus had got so riled up about it. All he'd done was ask him to dance, it wasn't as if he'd tried to kiss him or hug him or anything, and instead he'd had had a hissy fit and dragged Charlie off to the toilets for a quick and dirty blowjob. 

But then, when they'd got back to the hotel, Charlie had given McManus the promised neck rub, and that had improved things considerably. McManus had responded like a kitten being petted - not that Charlie would ever tell him that, of course. But the sight of the fierce, snarky Scot rubbing his cheek against the bed sheet and making small sounds in his throat as Charlie kneaded the knots out of his muscles... that had been very appealing. He smiled at the thought, and hugged McManus a little tighter. And after that McManus had wanted to fuck him slowly, which had felt really nice at the time, but that bloody lube had started to dry out, and now he was going to be sore for a couple of days. McManus wasn't going to like that, and never mind that it was basically his own fault, so Charlie was going to have to improvise. Adapt and overcome, that's what his Dad always said. 

At that moment, McManus stirred and rolled over onto his back, relieving Charlie of one problem, at least. He drew his arm out slowly and massaged the sore tendons. Odd how his skin felt suddenly cold without McManus's body heat. Still, it meant he could get up and get himself sorted without worrying about keeping anyone waiting. That had to be an improvement. 

He eased his way out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. He decided to forego the shave for this morning, and turned on the shower instead. He washed himself quickly, wanked himself slowly (the thought of McManus sucking his cock was just as powerful an image this morning as a few days ago) then rinsed and stepped out, grabbing one of the soft fluffy towels. 

The hotel toiletries included a toothbrush, which he used with enthusiasm, then regarded with some consternation when he realised that there was only the one brush provided. Not that it bothered him, precisely - he'd ingested McManus's body fluids quite a few times now, so a bit of saliva wouldn't bother him - but he wasn't sure how McManus would view the same situation. After all, they hadn't exactly swapped spit yet. 

_Yet?_

He rinsed the toothbrush thoroughly under the tap and left it to dry. If McManus wanted a brand new one, they'd ring for room service. 

He stepped out of the bathroom and found McManus awake, sitting up in bed and yawning. "Sorry," he said automatically, "I didn't mean to wake you." 

"That's OK. Have to get up anyway." McManus got out of bed and stretched. Charlie tried to suppress a smile at the obvious tentage in the navy-blue boxers, but McManus saw it anyway, grabbing the towel around his waist and pushing him back on the bed. Charlie drew his knees up, letting them fall outwards so that he was on display for all the world to see. 

McManus certainly appreciated the view, judging from the predatory smile that came over his face. "Grab that lube, lad, and roll over," he said, dropping the towel on the floor and stepping out of his underwear, revealing a healthily-restored morning erection. 

Charlie looked at McManus's cock - he swore it was larger than yesterday - and remembered why he wasn't so keen on this right now. 

"Umm," he mumbled, sitting up but making no move for the lubricant. "Would you let me suck you off instead?" he asked. "You see... the thing is... I'm still a bit sore from last night. That lube isn't as good as the one you have at home. And we've got a couple of hours in the car yet, so I'm just not so keen on being fucked this morning." 

"Are you telling me what to do?" That dangerous note was back in McManus's voice. 

"No, not at all," Charlie answered, hurriedly. "Just asking, and explaining why. Your choice." 

McManus cocked his head to one side as he thought about it, but nodded and sat down on the bed, his knees splayed. "Aye, all right, then. But make it a good one." 

"I will," promised Charlie, getting up and moving to stand in front of McManus. His own erection was at a right-angle from his body and was not too far from McManus's face. He firmly put aside the thought that McManus might one day suck his cock ( _Oh, please!_ ) and sank to his knees, gracefully. 

He did his best to make it a good one, and McManus seemed more than satisfied when, after nearly fifteen minutes of teasing and skilful use of Charlie's mouth and fingers, he gave a deep groan and climaxed. 

It was a full minute before McManus even moved, and even then it was only to look at his watch. "What time's check-out?" he asked. 

"Ten, I think." Charlie replied, pulling on his trousers. 

"Ach, we'd better get a move on." He made an abortive attempt to rise, then flopped back onto the bed. "I don't think I can get up, though." He held an arm out and Charlie pulled him to his feet, laughing as McManus overbalanced a little and had to be steadied in Charlie's arms. Charlie felt the laughter fading as they stood in an embrace more intimate than anything they had yet shared - chest to chest, their faces only a bare inch apart. For several seconds neither of them could move, and Charlie had a sudden desire, just for a moment, to kiss McManus on the lips. Then McManus turned away, murmuring, "I'll have a shower and get dressed, then," and the opportunity was lost. 

Charlie stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds longer, thinking about the moment just past. Could he have kissed McManus? What would his reaction have been? Would he have pushed him away? Would he have kissed him back? Would he have slid his arms around Charlie and pulled him close? Would he...? 

He wrenched his thoughts away from the dangerous path they were heading down, and set about retrieving his clothes. He was getting quite good at not thinking about things lately. 

When McManus returned from his shower there was a fresh cup of tea waiting for him, complete with milk and sugar. Charlie was standing by the window, looking down into the streets of Birmingham. It wasn't a very enticing prospect, and Charlie was glad they'd be leaving soon. 

McManus swallowed the tea with enthusiasm, but no thanks, which Charlie thought was pretty typical. He deliberately didn't watch as McManus got dressed, though he did catch a glimpse or two in the large wall mirror. Dangerous or not, the man was still pretty fit, still very easy on the eyes. 

A few minutes later they made their way down to the reception desk. There was a different clerk on this morning, and he asked if they had any luggage to be taken care of. 

"No, thanks, it's already in the car," said McManus quickly, not wanting to go through potentially-embarrassing explanations again. 

"That's fine." The clerk quickly printed out the receipt. "I hope you enjoyed your time here and will stay with us again the next time you're in Birmingham." 

"We’ll do that." 

McManus went to put his credit card back in his wallet, but dropped it. Charlie knelt down immediately and picked it up, then offered it up with a flourish of the wrist, and a knowing grin, still on one knee. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. And it had nothing to do with wanting to please McManus - it was just common courtesy, that was all. 

McManus couldn't help smiling. He took the card from Charlie's hand, shaking his head and muttering, "Get up, ye eejit." He put the card away before turning to the exit. "Come on then, or I'll leave you behind," he called out as he walked away. 

Charlie brushed a little dust off his trousers and smiled winningly at the bemused clerk before following McManus out of the door. 

~~~~~ 

With McManus at the wheel and Charlie holding the street map, it wasn't long before they'd negotiated their way back to the main road and soon after that they were on the M6 heading back north. 

"So... what are the plans for the rest of the weekend?" asked Charlie as they passed Junction 10. 

McManus shrugged. "Haven't really thought about it. I'll have to go into the office for a while when we get back, then... don't know. Might go for a run. Haven't been out for a while." 

"Wouldn't have figured you for a runner." 

"Oh aye? 

"I don't know... I guess it's just not something you think of gangst- I mean... people like you... doing-" Too late, Charlie realised that he'd said the wrong thing again. "Oh fuck." 

McManus nearly exploded. He pulled over to the side of the road, swerving to avoid a flashy red Saab which tried to sideswipe him, and stopped the car. 

"Now listen here, Charlie P-pace. I may do things that are on the shady side of the law, but I'm not a g-gangster. I've never been in a fucking g-gang and nor has my Da. Got that?" 

Charlie nodded, a little frightened by the ferocity in McManus's eyes and the return of the stutter, which he hadn't heard for several days. 

"I'm sorry. Was a stupid thing to say." 

"But you think it, don't you, eh, lad?" 

Charlie nodded, reluctantly, looking down. 

McManus grabbed his chin and forced Charlie to look at him while he spoke. 

"I'm not a gangster. I'm a m-moneylender, got it?" 

Charlie tried to nod, but couldn't move. 

McManus continued, spitting the words out with all the venom of an angry cobra. "Yes, I beat people up when they default on their debts. Sometimes I have to be a bit creative when people don't want to pay me back." He smiled that mirthless, shark-like grin and Charlie felt cold all over. "I don't want to have to show you how creative I can be, Charlie. Do you want that?" 

Wordlessly, Charlie shook his head as far as he could, while still imprisoned in McManus's steel-like grip. 

"Then I take it I can trust you to keep a better watch on your mouth, eh?" 

Charlie attempted another nod, wincing as McManus's fingers tightened. McManus was staring straight into his eyes, so close he could see every detail of his irises, see all the different colours that made up that incredible green. 

"Can I trust you, Charlie?" 

"Yes," he whispered, the pressure around his jaw making it difficult for him to speak. 

"Good." 

Finally, McManus let him go, and Charlie gasped for breath, gingerly rubbing the tender spots on his jaw. 

McManus straightened up and leaned back into the car seat, his eyes closed. His hands had returned to the steering wheel, and his fingers were curled around the plastic. Even so, Charlie could discern the faint tremor in the whitened knuckles, and he cleared his throat. "Do you want me to drive?" he asked, trying not to let his voice sound too croaky. 

"No, I'm fine." He started the car and revved it angrily. 

Charlie waited for McManus to put the car in gear and drive off, but he was just sitting there, staring through the windscreen, not moving. 

"Are you sure?" Charlie asked a little hesitantly, not knowing how McManus would react. 

After a long silence, McManus said "I'm fine." He certainly sounded a little calmer, and Charlie wondered if he'd been doing some sort of meditation exercise in the silence. He put the car in gear and started rolling down the road, until he could ease the car into a gap in the traffic. 

There were no further arguments during the trip - mainly because McManus turned the CD player on and turned the volume up, effectively removing any chance of conversation. Charlie concentrated on the countryside that he hadn't really seen the previous evening. 

The journey home was a lot faster than the trip south, and they made it to the Manchester city centre by eleven fifteen. McManus pulled up outside the office and they got out of the car. Charlie caught McManus's eyes flickering to the marks on his chin and throat. 

"So..." Charlie said casually. "You going to be in the office for a while?" He stuck his hands in his pockets, wondering if McManus had forgotten the outburst in the car. 

McManus looked up at the office building with distaste. "No, not today. I'll sort it all out on Monday." He looked at Charlie's shirt with its mismatched buttons, and sighed. "You look a right mess, lad." 

Charlie looked down at his clothes. The shirt was a bit crumpled, but that could hardly be helped since last night's trip hadn't exactly been planned. "I'll go home and change, if you want." 

"Do you have anything better at home?" 

Charlie shook his head slowly. "Not what you'd call better, anyway." He shuffled his feet on the pavement as he waited for McManus's decision. 

McManus looked at his watch, then ran a hand through what little hair he had. 

"Come on," he said, as he strode off towards Piccadilly. "I can't stand looking at that shirt any more." 

Ten minutes later, they walked into Debenham's and headed for the menswear section. 

"You don't have to do this for me, you know," Charlie said, in a low voice. "It's not like I'm your boyfriend, or anything. You don't have to buy me clothes." 

McManus scowled. "You're not my boyfriend. You're..." he hesitated for a moment, "you're an associate. And I don't associate with people who look like they dress out of Oxfam shops." 

"I don't -" Charlie tried to object. 

"You do. And don't tell me you don't like to dress up when you can afford it - those leather trousers must have cost you a quid or two." 

"Yeah, they did - that was last summer. We did six gigs in two weeks - it was awesome. I'd been wanting them for-" 

McManus waved away the details. "I won't be spending that much on you today, so don't go thinking I'm going to spoil you. It's not going to be Armani, just something that looks a little better than T-shirt and jeans." 

They wandered around the racks of clothing. Charlie noted, with relief, that McManus steered clear of pinstripes and formal trousers, concentrating on plain button-down shirts and dark-coloured slacks that could be dressed up or down. 

"Do you know what size you are?" McManus asked, holding up two pairs of navy slacks. 

Charlie looked down at himself. "Not sure. Seems to change every time I buy something. I think I'm still growing." 

McManus held up a couple of pairs of trousers against Charlie's back and muttered to himself. He made a few more selections from the shirts and slacks on display and headed for the fitting rooms. 

"Are you going to come in with me?" Charlie asked, feeling a little nervous. 

"Don't be daft. Put on one of the shirts and a pair of trousers and then come out so I can have a look." 

"OK." 

In fact, it turned out to be surprisingly easy. Charlie tried the clothes on and came out of the cubicle, whereupon McManus would pronounce judgement, and Charlie would go and change. It took a mere fifteen minutes for McManus to choose the ones he liked, and, to Charlie's relief, none of them were totally repulsive. The shirts were a bit plain, but with the sleeves rolled up and buttons undone, they weren't bad. At least he didn't look like a corporate lackey, like Liam did in his cheap pinstripe suit. 

They walked out of the store a few minutes later, Charlie carrying two large bags with the new purchases. He was still reeling from the way McManus had calmly paid out over two hundred pounds in cash for three shirts, two pairs of slacks, a belt, and a three-pack of briefs he'd thrown in at the last minute. To Charlie, that was five weeks'-worth of dole money, or as much as the whole band made on a good night, and McManus handed it over as if it were pocket change. 

The day had turned quite warm and McManus insisted on stopping for an ice-cream on the way back (pistachio for him, double chocolate chip for Charlie). They wandered through the streets in a companionable silence, looking at the shop windows and listening to the voices around them. Charlie finished his ice-cream first and was looking around for a rubbish-bin when McManus's phone rang. He took the half-eaten cone that McManus was holding out to him and stood patiently while McManus took out his mobile. 

"Rory McManus... Aye, David, what can I do for you?" McManus's tone was brisk and business-like. "Is that right? Oh, it's no bother. These things happen... aye, I could. About four?... Aye, I'd like that. OK, I’ll see you there." He put the phone away, retrieved his ice-cream, and started walking down the street. "Looks like I'll be in the office this afternoon after all," he sighed. 

"What do you want me to do?" asked Charlie. 

"Oh, you can go home, if you want," said McManus, carelessly. "I'll be busy this evening." 

"What about tomorrow?" 

"I'll give you a ring. Oh," he added, obviously having just remembered, "it's Sunday isn't it? Lunchtime with the family Pace." 

Charlie flushed. "You don't have to make fun of it." 

"Don't get your panties in a twist, kid. Family's important." 

Charlie nodded, but didn't say anything. 

McManus considered his weekend plans for a few more minutes then said, "I'll expect you at the flat at seven o'clock tomorrow evening." 

Charlie nodded while he tried to remember the various permutations of bus and train timetables. "I'll be there." 

"Don't be late." 

"I won't." 

They reached the office block a couple of minute later and parted ways: McManus went into the building and Charlie continued on to the bus stop, swinging the bags in his hands and humming a tune under his breath. 

Things had definitely changed overnight, he mused. He wasn't going to kid himself that the rest of the month was going to be a piece of cake - he knew McManus would have a few unpleasant surprises for him - but on the other hand, he could tell that McManus was interested in him - Charlie Pace - in who he was and what he did and what he looked like and what he thought about things. That was more than could be said for some of the people he knew. 


	10. Chapter 10

_Saturday 14 August_

The phone rang while Charlie was trying to sort out a pile of washing, ready to take around to his parents' place the next day. He grabbed it from the dresser and pressed the button, telling himself yet again that he had to get a decent ringtone. 

"Charlie speaking." 

"Where are you?" 

"Oh, hi, Chris." 

"Where are you?" 

"At home." 

"Good. Pack an overnight bag and get yourself over to Mr McManus's flat. You'll be staying there a few days." 

"Why? What's happened?" 

"We'll be there between seven-thirty and eight." 

"Chris? Chris?" 

The line was dead. Charlie looked at the phone in astonishment. He'd had some pretty odd phone calls in the last fortnight, but that was definitely the strangest. He wondered what could have happened. Had he done something wrong? Had something happened to Rory? - to McManus? 

He looked at his watch and swore - he'd have to be quick if he was going to make the bus. He threw the phone into the bag and started sorting through the pile of clothes, trying to work out which ones were clean enough to pack. 

~~~~~ 

At ten minutes to eight Charlie was sitting under one of the oak trees opposite the entrance to McManus's block of flats, basking in the evening sunshine. It was calm and peaceful and he enjoyed every second of it, the more so since he was certain that peace and quiet would be hard to find once McManus and Chris turned up. He watched the occasional car go by and wondered what had happened, where Chris had rung from, why he'd been so abrupt. He'd got the impression it wasn't anything good, but what it might be, exactly, he had no idea. 

It wasn't long before the familiar dark blue Camry turned into the driveway pulled up outside the main entrance. Chris got out of the driver's seat and hurried around to open up the passenger side door. That was unusual. 

Charlie got up, grabbing his backpack, and strolled around the front of the car. McManus was sitting in the passenger seat, looking pale and haggard, as if he were in a great deal of pain. He caught sight of Charlie and swore. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake! What's he doing here?" The effort of speaking left him grey, but he persisted. "Get rid of him, tell him... I'll call him in a couple of days." 

Chris appeared unimpressed with the display of temper. "I called him, boss." 

"What did you do that for, you prick?" 

"You need someone. And he won't blab." 

McManus fumed. "Don't... need... anyone," he uttered between clenched teeth as he unfastened his seatbelt. It was obvious that even that small movement was painful, and Chris leaned in to help him, moving the seatbelt out of the way. 

"Boss, you're in pain now. By tomorrow you'll barely be able to move. You'll need someone to fetch and carry for you for a few days at least. He's available, he's at your disposal for another couple of weeks... it makes sense to use him." 

McManus grunted. With Chris's assistance he managed to manoeuvre himself out of the seat and into an upright position. 

Charlie hovered over them, looking worried. "Shit, you look bad. What happened?" he asked, as he took McManus's other side. 

"Nothing that concerns you," he growled. "Just help me up the stairs." 

"Should I call a doctor?" 

"No fucking doctor." 

Charlie looked at Chris for confirmation, but Chris just shrugged. "You heard him. He won't go to any doctor." 

Charlie shook his head at the man's pig-headedness, but kept silent as Chris got McManus's jacket out from the back seat and they made their way slowly into the building and up the two flights of stairs to the apartment. 

"Where are your keys?" Charlie asked. 

McManus patted his right trouser pocket. Charlie slid his hand down into the pocket and drew out the small bunch of keys, selected the door key and opened the door into the flat. It was awkward getting all three of them through the doorway, but they managed it, and walked slowly into the living room. By the time they'd moved McManus to the sofa, however, he was white and almost shaking with the effort it had taken. 

"What happened to you? You look like you're about to keel over." Charlie asked again, but McManus stayed silent, his eyes closed. 

It was Chris who answered him, saying, "He got in the way of a fist. Maybe a shoe. I think he's cracked a rib or two, got a few bad bruises." He took no notice of the finger that McManus flipped him. 

"Why didn't you stop it? That's what you're there for, isn't it?" Charlie was incredulous. 

Chris shook his head. "Wasn't there, son. I just delivered him and picked him up, like he asked me to." He turned to go. "I'll tell Ken we'll be doing the rounds ourselves for the next few days." 

"Don’t-" McManus bit off whatever he was about to say, but Chris answered him anyway. 

"Don't worry, boss. I'll tell him you've got flu." 

McManus nodded, and Chris glanced at Charlie. "Mind you take care of him, son. He can't afford to be out of it for more than a few days." 

"What? Are you just going to leave me here with him?" He hurried after Chris, hardly believing that the man was going to leave him alone with Rory - with McManus. 

"Who else is there?" 

"Well... you. Ken. Anyone." 

"He needs nursing, son. I don't do nursing. And Ken doesn't need to know about this." 

"I'm not a nurse-" 

"You're the closest we've got." 

"But-" 

"But nothing, kid." Chris's voice was still quiet, but there was a vehemence there, a hard note that Charlie hadn't heard since the first week they'd met. The big man took a couple of steps back into the room and loomed over Charlie like a bear - and not a tame one. "He needs help. You're available. Help him." 

Charlie nodded, reluctantly. "OK." 

Chris leaned closer to his ear and added a few words in a quiet but menacing tone: "And if I find that you've hurt him while he's helpless I'll break every single bone in your hands and you'll never play guitar again. Got it?" 

Charlie shuddered. "Got it. Right. No problem. Absolutely." He swallowed the temptation to make a run for it now. This was going to go so very wrong, he could just feel it. 

"Right." Chris straightened up and headed for the door. "I'll be away, then." 

Suddenly Charlie thought of something. "Oh... umm... Chris?" he hesitated a moment before using the man's name, "Do you have time to get to a chemist? He needs painkillers - Brufen and Mersyndol if you can find them. Something like that, anyway." 

Chris looked at his watch and nodded. "There's one in the shopping village. I think it's open until nine. I'll see what I can do." 

He left, and Charlie listened to the door close before turning back to McManus, who had closed his eyes again. He was starting to get a little colour back in his face, but there was too much effort in his breathing and Charlie thought Chris's guess of a cracked rib was probably right. He'd have to get him up the stairs to bed - he should have asked Chris to help him with that before he left, but, looking at him, McManus needed a bit of rest before any more movement anyway, so perhaps it was just as well. 

"Umm.. would you like me to make some tea or coffee?" he asked, rather tentatively. 

McManus opened his eyes at that and stared morosely at Charlie. Then he took a breath in, winced, and said, "Whisky. Then tea." 

"Whisky's not good for injuries." 

"I said whisky, you-" Whatever McManus had intended to say next, it was lost as he gasped and tried to clutch his ribs. Charlie went over to the cabinet and quickly poured a large whisky. He took it over and held it to McManus's lips as he drank. 

The drink brought a little more colour into his face, and he leaned back against the cushions. Charlie put the glass down on the coffee table and went to make the tea. While the kettle was on, he made a quick inventory of the contents of the fridge, freezer and cupboards. Apart from some milk, bread, and tins of soup, there wasn't much food in the place - not really surprising, since the only meal he'd ever seen prepared in the flat was breakfast. He wondered if McManus would let him have some money to go to the supermarket in the morning or if he'd have to ask Chris. 

He made the pot of tea, and as soon as it had steeped sufficiently he poured out two mugs, adding the milk and two sugars that McManus liked. After a moment's thought he added a third sugar, and took the mugs into the living room. 

McManus hadn't moved, but he opened his eyes and gave a very weak smile as he saw the tea that Charlie was carrying. Charlie helped him to sit up a little and to take a few sips of tea, noting how it hurt him to lift his arms. They didn't talk, and Charlie was careful not to jar him as he moved him. He hovered in silence, wondering just what he was supposed to do. He wasn't a doctor or a nurse... what if anything went wrong? What if there were fractures? Bleeding? Infection? He remembered some of the stories his mother had told him about neglected injuries. All right, so they were cautionary tales, meant to scare them into doing the right thing, but they had to have some truth in them, didn't they? 

He wondered if he could ask his mother for advice. She'd know what to do, he was sure of it, but he didn't think he could ask her without letting her know what had happened, without telling her about the situation he was in, without revealing he was gay. He knew he couldn't risk it, no matter how much he tried to disguise the story. She was a mother, after all - she could pick up on a weak excuse and follow it through like a bloodhound on a trail. One word to her and she'd have the whole sorry story out of him in ten minutes, and then there'd really be hell to pay. Whatever the outcome for himself, he knew one thing - Liam would never, ever, forgive him, and while Liam could be a right pillock at times, he was still Charlie's brother, and he didn't want a complete rift between them. 

He stared at the carpet and hoped that it would all turn out all right. 

"Charlie," McManus whispered, bringing him out of his reverie. 

"What is it?" 

"Whisky." 

Charlie frowned. He started to ask, "Are you sure?" but on seeing the look on McManus's face he capitulated and picked up the empty glass. He poured a generous amount from the bottle and held the glass to McManus's lips as he drank. After all, he reassured himself, plenty of Scottish soldiers had dosed themselves with whisky after their battles, so it can't have been all that bad for them, could it? At the least, it would take some of his pain away, and then maybe he'd sleep, and sleep was good for injuries. 

It was after nine o'clock before Chris got back, but he was carrying two bags of groceries, besides the drugs Charlie had asked for. He went through to the kitchen, followed by Charlie. 

"I thought you'd need these," he explained as he took out two icepacks and put them in the freezer. "And he doesn't eat in much so I got some food. Easy stuff." He pulled out milk, bread and a variety of frozen meals. "Instructions are on the packets." 

"Th-thanks," said Charlie, sounding somewhat taken aback at this unexpected forethought. "Would you mind staying for a few more minutes? I think I'll need your help to get him up the stairs." 

"Sure." 

Charlie filled a glass with water and forced McManus to take some painkillers, though he wasn't in much state to fight him off, then said, "Right then, we'd better get you upstairs so you can rest properly". 

McManus leaned forward a little, but was unable to lift himself up off the sofa. Normally, Charlie would have laughed at the expression of dismay on McManus's face, but now he felt that it wasn't so much comical as shocking. He was used to the man being strong and decisive and totally in control - they all were. Seeing him weak and helpless was fundamentally wrong. 

Charlie leaned forward to grasp McManus's arm, hoping to pull him up, but McManus flinched and moved away. 

"Don't pull me up," he muttered. "I can do it." 

Chris and Charlie looked at each other. It was clear that no matter how much he tried, there was no way that McManus was going to be able to get up unassisted. With a brief nod to each other they moved in, one on each side, and gently eased him forward over the soft cushions. It took a few minutes of fumbling until they managed to find spots where they could move him without pressing on his injuries, but eventually they had him standing more-or-less upright. 

"OK," said Charlie, encouragingly, "now for the stairs. Can you get up them or should we carry you?" 

"I'm no' a fucking jessie. I'll walk up the fucking stairs." McManus took a step forward and winced. 

Charlie glanced at Chris, puzzled. "What's a jessie?" he whispered, behind McManus's back. 

"A nancy," Chris responded in a low voice. 

"Oh." Charlie sighed. He and Chris followed McManus to the bottom of the staircase where they all stopped as McManus contemplated the ascent with the air of an exhausted mountaineer facing Everest. 

"Are you sure...?" ventured Charlie, but he was cut off with a look from McManus that would have frozen helium. 

"I'm sure." 

It took a long time for them to get up the stairs - McManus had difficulty taking his weight on his left leg, and couldn't pull himself up using the banister because of his injured ribs. Chris and Charlie stood close behind him, supporting some of his weight, and McManus took the steps one at a time, leading with his right leg, like a toddler. He wobbled once or twice, but Chris steadied him and Charlie held him, and there were no stumbles or falls. Once on the upper level, they proceeded into McManus's bedroom. Chris helped him into the small en-suite bathroom while Charlie turned down the sheets and grabbed a couple more pillows from the linen cupboard. 

When McManus came out of the bathroom he was shaking again, but he refused to sit down until he was undressed. 

"OK, Chris, you support him and I'll start undoing buttons." 

They set to work: Chris supported McManus while Charlie unbuttoned his shirt. He felt a bit nervous undressing McManus, and in front of an audience, too. He tried to cover it with a joke, saying, "It's just as well you like these button down shirts, you know - if you'd been wearing a t-shirt we'd have had to cut it off." 

"Over my dead body," growled McManus, and Charlie hurriedly dropped his gaze and concentrated on what he was doing. 

He undid all the shirt buttons, then McManus's belt and zip. He helped McManus to step out of the trousers, then shook them out and placed them neatly over the back of a chair, saying, "I'll hang them up properly as soon as we've got you settled." He knew how obsessive McManus was about keeping his clothes neat. 

He returned to McManus and eased the shirt over his shoulders, sliding it gently over the bruised skin until it too dropped to the floor. That left only the cotton vest, and Charlie regarded it with some consternation. It was going to be very difficult to get that off McManus without him lifting his arms above his head - and from what Charlie had seen so far, that was about as likely as the sun rising in the west. The only choice was to cut it. He hesitated, after McManus's earlier response... but this was only a vest, not a shirt. 

McManus sighed and said, "There's a pair of nail scissors in the bedside table." 

Charlie flushed - he hated it when McManus read his mind - but reached into the drawer and found the scissors. It took a few minutes to cut the vest away with such tiny blades, and he had to be careful not to pull the vest against any bruises, but eventually it was done. With slow, careful movements he eased the ragged fabric away from McManus's body and saw clearly, for the first time, just why Chris had called him. There were large red and purple bruises along McManus's left side, from shoulder to pelvis, a few on his right side, and several more on his arms and legs. His left leg had a large purple and blue swelling, only part of which was visible beneath the boxers, where someone had obviously kicked him hard, and there were several similar but slightly less severe marks over his hip and flank. Both sides of his chest and his upper spine were covered in bruises and abrasions. 

Charlie swallowed. He'd seen plenty of bruises before, but none this extensive, and none that had been so deliberately inflicted. Someone had given McManus a real beating, with more than just their hands, and yet had been careful enough not to touch his face. That, more than anything else, made him feel a little sick. 

McManus turned towards the bed, but Charlie stopped him. "Hold on a minute," he said, "I want to check your ribs - to see if anything's broken." He explored the chest wall with his fingers, taking his time, trying to be as gentle as possible. McManus flinched once or twice, but bore the examination stoically. 

Charlie relaxed a little as he finished the examination. There were tender spots, of course, but he couldn't feel any of the crackling or grating he had feared. "I think there might be a crack or two, but I don't think any of them are broken," he pronounced seriously. 

"You're a doctor, now?" McManus muttered. 

Charlie grinned as he shook his head. "No, my Mum's a nurse, though. I just picked a few things up from her. And Liam and I were always fighting when we were kids, so I do know about cracked ribs. Not much you can do apart from ice and painkillers." 

They helped him into bed, and Charlie removed the black socks that looked so incongruous on McManus's nearly-naked body. McManus couldn't help but give a small sigh of relief as he leaned back and closed his eyes. The bruises stood out against his pale skin, and Charlie remembered the ice packs Chris had brought in. He raced down to the kitchen and opened the freezer, but the ice packs weren't even cool yet. There were a couple of ice-cube trays, though, so he grabbed those and made up a couple of icepacks from plastic bags and tea-towels before running back up the stairs. 

"There now," he said soothingly as he placed the improvised packs against the worst of the bruises," with that and the tablets you'll soon be able to sleep." 

"Sleep... sleep would be good," McManus muttered, sinking back into the pillows. 

"Absolutely." Charlie adjusted the bedclothes around the bruised torso, careful not to touch any of the sore spots, then reached up and closed the curtains, shutting out the fading evening light. He picked up the discarded trousers and hung them up in the wardrobe with all the others. "Just give us a shout if you need anything. I'll see Chris out and then come back upstairs." 

"Aye," Chris concurred. "I'll call in tomorrow, boss." 

McManus gave a tiny nod, not even opening his eyes. He did look to be a little more comfortable now, so Chris and Charlie left the room and went down the stairs. 

"Who did that to him?" Charlie asked again as they walked down the stairs, but Chris shook his head. 

"Not my place to say." 

"But surely you have some idea?" 

"Control yourself, kid. He'll tell you himself, if he wants you to know." 

Charlie almost ground his teeth in frustration, but he knew it would be useless to pester Chris further, and he would need the big man's help in the days to come. 

"OK, I'll try and keep my mouth shut," he grumbled. "Thanks for calling me," he added, as Chris opened the front door. "I'll take good care of him." 

Chris smiled at him, without even a hint of cynicism. "I know you will," he said, and stepped out into the corridor. 

Charlie stood beside the open door for several minutes. It had been a while since anyone except his mother had expressed any confidence in him, and he felt absurdly pleased by the trust that Chris had shown. He'd just have to prove that he was worth it. 

He heard a faint noise from upstairs, and closed the door behind him, a wry look on his face as he contemplated the days ahead. He had the feeling that Rory McManus was going to be a very difficult patient. 


	11. Chapter 11

_Sunday 15 August, 6 am_

Charlie was woken early by the sound of a restless McManus groaning as he tried to move around on the bed. He hadn't slept well himself - he'd been too scared that he'd roll over and hurt McManus in his sleep – but there hadn't been any other option. He'd thought of sleeping in the spare bedroom so that he wouldn't disturb McManus, but on looking into the room he'd found it to be almost empty, with a gym mat in the centre and a few boxes against the wall. Since the only chair on the upper level was hard and uncomfortable, he'd been forced to share the bed, but he'd stayed as far from McManus as he could without actually falling off the edge. 

He sat up and looked across to where McManus was lying against the pillow - he'd slipped down a little in the night and looked very uncomfortable. Charlie glanced at the bedside table, but realised immediately that he'd left the painkillers downstairs in the living room. He got out of bed, trying to move slowly, and fetched them from downstairs. 

By the time he got back, McManus was awake and trying to get out of bed, but not succeeding very well. A night's fitful rest hadn't improved his temper, and he was cursing under his breath as Charlie helped him to sit up. He swallowed the painkillers without a word, then tried to stand up, with even less success. Charlie helped him to stand, and then they made their way very slowly to the ensuite, McManus shuffling and limping heavily on the left leg. 

"You'd think... I'd be able to get to the... fucking bathroom on my own," he muttered as Charlie tried hard to hold him up while not putting any pressure on his bruises. 

"Maybe tomorrow," Charlie answered, trying to sound soothing rather than irritated. "For today, you don't move without someone with you. I'll ask Chris to go back to the chemist for a urine bottle. That will mean you don’t have to move so much." 

"I'm not a fucking invalid... and I don't need a... bloody bottle!" McManus pulled free of Charlie and, as if to demonstrate quite clearly that he didn't need a bottle, pulled his dick out and started to relieve himself. 

"Suit yourself then." Charlie left him in the bathroom and went downstairs to make some tea. McManus was going to be even worse-tempered when he got back into bed, but at least a cup of hot sweet tea would go a long way to soothing him. 

He found a wooden chopping board that would do as a tray, and made a mental note to ask Chris to get one of those trays with legs, that could double as a bed-table - McManus wasn't going to be going downstairs for a few days, so he'd need something to eat his meals on. 

The journey upstairs was somewhat perilous, the chopping board not being as large as a tea-tray and prone to tilting unexpectedly, but eventually he reached the bed and transferred the pot, a mug, milk, sugar and two icepacks (wrapped in cloths) to the bedside table. He plumped the pillows up and straightened the sheets on the bed. He frowned to himself: they could really do with changing, but he didn't want to keep McManus out of bed any longer than was necessary. 

He looked over to the bathroom and found that McManus was leaning up against the doorway, obviously unable to move further on his own. Wordlessly, Charlie went to his assistance, supporting him as they crossed the open space to the bed. As he settled back into the pillows, Charlie placed the icepacks on the worst of his bruises, and listened to McManus's sigh of relief with a grim satisfaction. 

"You don't have to say it." McManus's voice was flat; he spoke with his eyes closed, as if that would give him the opportunity to deny it later. 

Charlie smiled to himself. Even so small an admission was a huge step for McManus, and Charlie didn't want to risk him putting up all his screens again. "I won't," he said softly. "Would you like a cup of tea, now?" he asked. "The pot's just nicely brewed." 

"Aye, tea's good." 

Charlie poured the tea out, adding milk and three sugars. He held the cup to McManus's lips so that the man didn't have to pull himself upright. It took a long time for McManus to drink his tea this way, but he looked a bit better when the cup was empty. _Bendy straws,_ he thought to himself, _must remember to ask Chris for bendy straws._

"Would you like some breakfast?" he asked. 

"Aye, I'm famished." 

"Well, you didn't eat much yesterday, I guess. Toast?" 

"That'll do. Eggs would be good... can't remember if I have any, though." 

"I'll check the fridge. If not, I'll add them to the list for Chris." 

"What time's he coming by?" 

"He didn't say, but I imagine it'd be mid-morning. I can ring him if you like." 

McManus shook his head. "No, it's all right." 

"OK. Toast and eggs, if we have any, just toast if we don't. Marmalade?" 

"Of course." 

Charlie smiled. "You really love that stuff, don't you?" 

McManus smiled back weakly. "Puts hairs on your chest." 

"So that's the secret, is it? Maybe I should have some too." 

"Just as long as we don't run out." 

"I'll make sure of that. Toast without marmalade would be a disaster of epic proportions, I can tell." 

"Too right." 

Charlie grinned to himself as he went down to the kitchen to make breakfast. Perhaps this was going to be easier than he thought. 

There were two eggs left in fridge, only a couple of days past their "use by" date, but they didn't smell, and Charlie thought he'd take the chance. He had to race back up the stairs to ask McManus how he wanted them cooked, and was thankful that the answer was scrambled rather than soft-boiled or fried - it was hard to get scrambled eggs wrong. He found a saucepan in the cupboard beside the oven and spooned a generous dollop of butter into it before setting it on the stove. He spent a bit of time fishing out a couple of fragments of eggshell that somehow fell in when he broke the eggs, but he managed not to burn anything, at least. 

He looked on his labours with some pride as he walked carefully up the stairs. The eggs were nicely scrambled without being watery or rubbery, and were framed by two slices of buttered toast. Knife and fork, salt and pepper… he hoped he'd remembered everything. 

He had to put the makeshift tray down in order to help his patient to sit up, but once it was placed across McManus's knees he saw, with gratification, how eagerly McManus attacked the food. He was sent back to make more toast, which he spread thickly with marmalade, and saw McManus wolf that down as well. Another cup of tea later, and McManus settled down for another nap, leaving Charlie to clean up the dishes. 

Chris rang the buzzer a few minutes after nine, and was sequestered with McManus for about thirty minutes. When he came to find Charlie before taking his leave, he seemed his usual imperturbable self, so Charlie guessed that the conversation with his boss had gone reasonably well. 

"How're you holding up, kid?" 

"I'm fine, thanks," said Charlie. "He hasn't been any trouble." 

Chris gave him a quizzical look, and Charlie gave a wry grin. "Well, he's been a little bit of trouble, but not much, really. We'll be fine." 

"Anything you need?" 

"Oh," Charlie stopped to think for a minute. "Eggs - he likes them, and we're out. Bacon. And marmalade - the thick cut stuff - he loves that." He got the nearly-empty jar out of the cupboard to show Chris. "And bendy straws, so he can drink without sitting up. And maybe some lemonade. I think that's all." 

"Eggs, bacon, marmalade, straws, lemonade," repeated Chris. 

"Yeah, I can't think of anything else. Maybe later." 

"OK, I'll drop them off this afternoon. That soon enough?" 

"Yeah, I think so. I'm hoping he'll sleep most of the day." 

Chris nodded and was turning to go when Charlie suddenly remembered something. "A tray," he called out. 

"What?" 

"I need a tray to carry things up to him. One with legs would be really good, the sort that turns into a little table, you know?" 

"I know the sort. I'll see what I can find." 

"Thanks." 

Chris headed off, and Charlie went up to see if McManus needed anything. He found his patient restless and crabby, the sheets rucked and twisted beneath him. 

"I can't get comfortable," McManus complained. "My fucking chest hurts and my leg hurts and I can't lie down any more." 

Charlie reached for the painkillers and forced him to take two more tablets. Then he looked at the mess McManus had made of the bed and said, "Well, I think your bed needs making, and you could probably do with a wash as well. I can do that much for you, anyway." 

McManus's immediate response was to pull the sheet higher over his chest and to growl, "I'm not having you wash me." 

Charlie had to stop himself from laughing out loud at that. "Jesus, man! I've sucked you off, you've fucked me raw, and now you're embarrassed to let me wash you?" 

"Don't get snotty with me, kid." 

Charlie knew he was supposed to back down, but somehow, the words didn't sound so threatening when they came from a man who was cowering behind a sheet, and he pressed on, saying, "It'll be fine, trust me. You'll feel better afterwards, promise." 

"I can have a shower." 

Charlie snorted. "It took everything you had just to go to the loo. You'd never be able to stand up long enough to have a shower. And you can't lift your arms up high enough to wash your hair." 

McManus was silent, which Charlie took to mean that he accepted that Charlie was right but didn't want to admit it - if it were anyone else, Charlie would have said that McManus pouted. He resisted the temptation to make another smart comment and instead set about gathering the things he'd need: towels, a face flannel, soap and a bowl of warm water. When he was ready, he put the bowl down on the floor beside the bed. McManus hadn't said another word in the intervening minutes, but Charlie figured that if he really didn't want to be washed him he'd certainly say so - the fact that he hadn't merely confirmed what Charlie had thought earlier. 

Charlie pulled back the sheets gently, revealing McManus's bruised and battered torso. The bruises on his torso were becoming spectacular - blue and purple and red, like monstrous flowers. They stood out on McManus's pale skin and Charlie found himself muttering under his breath as he thought of what he'd like to do to whoever had done this. It was a miracle no bones had been broken, and he still didn't want to think about the possibility of internal injuries. He knew it was irrational - McManus was no innocent, no matter how angelic he looked in his sleep - and physical beatings were an accepted part of the world in which he lived, but it still seemed wrong to Charlie, especially if, as he suspected, the culprit had been McManus's own father. How could anyone hurt their own child like this? His own father had never been violent, and early childhood spankings had soon given way to other punishments like extra housework, being confined to his room when he wanted to go out, or having his guitar taken away from him for a few days at a time. Never in his life had Charlie seen such deliberate punishment - not even in his own fights with Liam had they ever managed to inflict such a degree of damage to each other. 

"Who did this to you?" he whispered. 

McManus lay still, eyes closed, and made no reply. 

"This was meant to hurt you but not to damage you. This was done by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Am I right so far?" 

Only the twitch of an eyelid indicated that McManus had even heard what Charlie said, but it was enough to spur him on. 

"You won't say a word, Chris won't say a word, you'd rather have me look after you than go to a doctor. You don’t want anyone to know about this at all, so you don't want them to get into trouble and you don't - or can't - retaliate. And it's someone who can call you up to Glasgow at a moment's notice." He paused. "Was it your father?" 

Not a muscle moved in McManus's face, but the fingers of his right hand started to curl into a fist before relaxing once more. 

"If it was, I'm sorry." 

"Don't pity me." The words were no less cutting for being whispered. 

"I'd pity anyone in this condition." Charlie ventured, but McManus stopped him by opening his eyes and glaring furiously. 

"If I want you to know, I'll fucking tell you. Until then keep your useless thoughts to yourself. Understand?" 

Charlie nodded. Even lying in bed, McManus could be intimidating when he really wanted to be. 

"Now are you going to finish this fucking wash or do I get to have a shower after all?" 

Charlie surrendered the topic for the moment and picked up the towels. He rolled McManus gently one side, then the other, so that he could lay the towels over the bottom sheet, then sponged him down with the flannel cloth and a little soap. His mother had done this for him when he'd been sick as a child, and he was surprised by how much he remembered: wash, rinse, pat dry - one small section at a time. He took his time, changing the water a couple of times, until finally the only section left unwashed was the bit covered by McManus's boxers. 

He delayed the inevitable by changing the water again, then approached the bed with a little more trepidation than before. He tried clearing his throat, but that didn't help much, so he put the bowl down and took hold of the elastic waistband. He eased the boxers down, trying to avoid putting any pressure on the extensive bruise on the left leg. McManus turned a little, shifting his weight to make it a little easier, and then spreading his legs as Charlie picked up the soft cloth. 

Charlie noted that this was the first time he'd seen the man naked but not aroused. He couldn't help but feel some vicarious relief that whoever the perpetrator was, he hadn't managed to kick McManus in the groin. He'd taken a few blows there himself over the years and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even his worst enemy. 

The two of them managed to get through the final part of the wash without dying of embarrassment, largely because they ignored each other with determination. Charlie kept his eyes firmly focussed on the area he was cleansing, while McManus, for his part, kept his eyes firmly fixed on the back of Charlie's neck (at least, that's where they appeared to be looking when Charlie had sneaked a sideways glance). Neither of them spoke until Charlie was almost finished. 

"Are you happy to stay like this for a while?" Charlie asked, as he patted the last bit of skin dry. 

"What?" 

"Do you want me to get you something to wear, or would you prefer to stay like this?" 

"Oh." McManus shook his head and frowned. "The boxers are in the second drawer down, over there." He nodded towards the large chest of drawers under the window. 

Charlie got up and went over to them chest of drawers. The second drawer down was obviously the underwear drawer and contained a pile of neatly-folded silk boxers, in plain dark colours, several vests, all white cotton, and about a dozen pairs of socks, mostly black and all of them rolled up into neat, perfectly oval balls. The drawer was so tidy it almost hurt. 

Charlie stared. He'd never seen anything like it in his life - it was unreal. Who in the world would keep their underwear drawer so tidy? It was the sort of drawer that would pass muster in the marines, even under the most vicious of sergeants. Charlie thought about that. Had McManus ever been in the Armed Forces? He didn't have a military look about him, though. Perhaps… perhaps he'd been in prison? Though he didn't think that prisons really cared about underwear being tidy as long as all items were accounted for. Maybe it was just another expression of McManus's weird personality. 

McManus's voice interrupted his musings. "Hurry up, lad. I don't want to sit here all day with my willy waving in the breeze." 

Charlie hurriedly grabbed the uppermost set of boxers (dark green - a bold departure from navy) and closed the drawer. He pulled the boxers on over McManus's feet, then eased them up his legs, taking particular care that the elastic didn't press against any of the bruises. McManus cooperated by shifting his body this way and that as Charlie drew the fabric up his legs and over his hips. 

"There, now. Is that a bit better?" 

McManus admitted, without in any way indicating that he was grateful, that he did feel better. "You have very gentle hands," he said, looking down at the sheets. 

Charlie smiled appreciatively at the compliment, mild as it was. He looked at the bed sheets too, for different reasons. They were still a mess, and he really ought to change them, but he thought that McManus had had enough movement for now. He could always change them later, the next time McManus went to the bathroom. 

"Er... Mr McManus?" 

"For fuck's sake, kid, I'm not your headmaster. You can call me Rory – at least in here. Just don't give me any cheek." 

"Oh. Right." He swallowed. "Well... umm... Rory... do you want me to bring up the TV for you? Or the radio?" 

Rory shook his head and the lines on his forehead deepened as he frowned. "No. You can bring the radio up later. I wouldn't mind reading for a bit, but I'm too tired. Not sure I could hold a book up anyway." He sighed and shifted uneasily in the bed. 

"I could read to you," Charlie offered. 

Rory looked at him oddly, but refused. "No, I think I'll just try and have another nap." 

"OK," Charlie acquiesced. I'll bring you up some tea then." 

"Tea's always good." 

"Yeah, I worked that out," he grinned, and was pleased to see a glimmer of amusement on Rory's face. "Any particular flavour?" 

"Mmmm… Darjeeling." 

"OK." 

Charlie collected the cold teapot and cups and took them down with him. Once in the kitchen, he put the kettle on and fished out the Darjeeling tea from the jar on the counter. He glanced at the clock and was astonished to see that the time was nearly eleven - he'd have to think about getting lunch ready soon. 

Speaking of lunch… He opened the freezer and looked at the packets Chris had deposited there the night before: two frozen pizzas, fish fillets, oven chips, and a couple of pre-packaged meals, guaranteed to be devoid of all nutritional value. He shook his head, sadly. He was expected to cook and eat this? Still, he could tell that Chris had meant well. He'd make do for today, anyway, and later on, once Rory was settled a bit more and he could get to the shops himself, he'd get them something a bit more interesting to eat. 

He looked in the cupboards, not really expecting much to have changed from the week before, and grimaced as his suspicions were confirmed. There were a few tins (soup, baked beans, fruit), a box of cereal, a packet of tea, the nearly-empty jar of marmalade and two sauce bottles (one tomato, one HP). That was about it. 

Oh well, at least it made the choice of meals a little easier: beans on toast for lunch, fish and chips for dinner. Sorted. 

He got out the tin of beans and set it on the counter. There was plenty of bread for toast, now that he'd spotted the two loaves stashed away in the freezer, so he wasn't worried about running out, but he'd need more if Rory wanted fresh bread, and he made a mental note to ask Chris for some at the next opportunity. 

The kettle boiled and Charlie made the tea. He reassembled the pot, mug, sugar and milk on the cutting board and made his way up the stairs for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. _If I ever get an apartment I'll make bloody sure it's all on one level,_ he promised himself. 

Rory looked to be asleep, but he opened his eyes as Charlie set the improvised tray down on the bedside table. He poured the tea, added milk and sugar, and supported Rory as he drank the first few sips. 

There was a buzzing sound, and Charlie had to think for a moment before he worked out what it was - his mobile phone, still tucked into the front pocket of his backpack. He set the cup down and hurried over to where he had left it the night before. He gave an apologetic look at Rory as he fished it out of the backpack, saying, "It's probably Liam, wanting to know if I'm going home for lunch." 

He pressed the button. "Charlie here." 

"Hey, bro', it's Liam. Where are you? You didn't come home last night." 

"I'm with McManus." 

"He must really like what you do for him, hey?" 

"Cut it, arsehole. What do you want?" 

"You going to Mum and Dad's for lunch?" 

"No, not today." 

"Too busy sucking his cock, are you? Or is he ramming himself up your arse?" 

"Fuck off, Liam, I'm just here, all right? And I won't be back for a couple of days, so leave it alone." 

"So I just tell them you're too busy, eh? Should I go into any details?" 

"Like you never skived off lunch to go away with one of your girlfriends. Prick." 

Liam laughed, like he always did. "Ok, lil bro', I'll just say you're busy. Ta-ra." 

Charlie glared at the phone, wondering how it was that Liam always managed to make him feel useless and pathetic. He glanced over at Rory, who was watching him interestedly. He felt suddenly embarrassed at having to ask him for anything, but he had to let his mother know before Liam got there. 

"Er… could I use your phone?" he asked, a little hesitantly. "I'd better tell Mum I won't be there for lunch." 

Rory nodded, so Charlie walked around to his side of the bed and picked up the handset from the extension on the beside table. He dialled the number and waited, a little nervously, for someone to pick up. 

"Pace family, Bridget speaking." 

"Oh, hi, it's Charlie, how are you?" 

"I'm fine, thanks. How are you?" 

"Fine, yeah, no problem. Listen, could you tell Mum I won't be over for lunch today?" 

"Are you sure? She'll be really annoyed. We're off to Ireland tomorrow, and I know she wanted to see you and Liam today before we go." 

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, but I just can't make it. Give her a hug from me and tell her I hope you all have a wonderful time." 

"I will. 

"How is everyone?" 

"Oh, we're all well. Dad's doing his usual 'Why do you need three full suitcases and two bags just for ten days?' speech. Tess is in a right state because the A-level results are due out on Wednesday and she won't be here. She wanted to stay behind but Mum wouldn't let her, so she's asked Liam to check the post on Wednesday and ring her at Uncle Jim's." 

"She'll be fine." 

Bridget snorted. "Of course she will - she's just being a drama queen. My GCE results are out next week and I'm not panicking." 

"Well, be fair, Biddy, it's not quite the same. If she doesn't get into King's she's going to have to scramble to get a place." 

"She'll get it. I think she's more worried about getting the grant, but I reckon she'll get that too." 

"Yeah, she will. Listen, I've got to go, but don't forget to tell Mum I love her, right? I’ll come over when you get back. And tell Kevin to behave himself." 

"I will. Have a nice time yourself. Bye." 

"Bye." 

He hung up and looked at Rory, a little embarrassed. "Thanks," he muttered. 

"It's OK," Rory said, surprisingly sympathetic. "You don't want them to worry." 

"Yeah." Charlie nodded, then made an effort to change the subject before things got too emotional. "Listen, speaking of lunch… Chris brought some food in yesterday, but it's all crap - microwave meals and frozen pizzas. I'll make do for today, but tomorrow I'd rather go to the supermarket and get you some fresh stuff. I'm not a bad cook, honest, and I can get you stuff that'll be a lot better for you." 

Rory looked worried and sceptical. "You're not going to try and make me eat salads and healthy shit are you?" 

Charlie laughed out loud at the expression on Rory's face. "I'm skint, not stupid! Though I do make a mean Caesar salad, if I do say so myself," he added, teasingly. "No, I was thinking more stir-fry, or egg-and-bacon pie, or macaroni cheese, even a small roast if you want. 

Rory looked positively eager as Charlie rattled off the list of dishes. "I haven't had a decent egg-and-bacon pie in years," he said plaintively. "No one trims the rinds off anymore, and they keep putting garlic in it." 

"Give me ten quid to get the ingredients and I'll do you the best egg-and-bacon pie you've ever had. Guaranteed no garlic." 

"You're on, lad. And a treacle pudding, if you can manage that." 

Treacle pudding? In summer? Charlie couldn't help smiling at the thought. "Well, it's not what I normally recommend for August, but I'll see what I can do. Would you want custard as well? I have to warn you, custard is not one of my better products - it goes all lumpy. But I guess I could buy a carton of the ready-made stuff and heat it up. Or I could get a tub of clotted cream." 

Rory looked quite cheerful, and tried to reach for his tea. "Sounds good. I'll give you some money in the morning and Chris'll drop you at the shops." 

Charlie picked up the mug and put it in Rory's hand, making sure it didn't spill. "OK. I'll see what else we need and make a list." He left Rory happily drinking his tea and went down to check the cupboards again. It was only as he was reached the bottom of the stairs that he realised he'd sounded just like his mum. _Charlie Pace, domestic goddess._

Bloody hell. 


	12. Chapter 12

_Sunday 15 August_

Unfortunately, that conversation was the high point of the day. Whether Rory was in pain, or whether he was just regretting his momentary openness, Charlie didn't know. What he did know was that Rory only picked at the lunch Charlie prepared, turning up his nose at the baked beans on toast and demanding a bacon sandwich instead. He silked when Charlie pointed out that they didn’t have any bacon - Chris hadn't brought the groceries yet - and proceeded to find fault with everything that Charlie did for the rest of the afternoon. The tea was too weak, then too strong, then too cold. The sheet were rucked and uncomfortable - but when Charlie changed them, taking extra care to smooth the bottom sheet so that there wasn't a single wrinkle, Rory complained that he kept sliding down the bed. He demanded that Charlie bring up the radio, but then couldn't find anything he wanted to listen to. He said he wanted to read, but he couldn't hold a book for long and refused Charlie's offer to read to him. When Charlie tried to cajole him into having some more ibuprofen he swore and said he wasn't going to be treated like a half-witted bairn, at which point Charlie told him he was acting like one and left him alone for a while in the hope that things would improve. They didn't, and Charlie had difficulty holding his temper in check as the afternoon drew on. 

To make things worse, Rory had managed to get out of bed on his own and into the bathroom, but he'd stumbled on the way back, jarring his ribs and left thigh, already the worst of his injuries. Charlie had heard the thump from the kitchen and had come running up the stairs, to be greeted with as vicious a string of curses as Rory could manage (which wasn't very much, actually, given the difficulty he had breathing). Painkillers and ice had not done much to ease Rory's pain - or his temper - and nor had whisky, which Charlie had brought up to the bedroom on Rory's orders. 

If Chris hadn't turned up when he did, a little after five, Charlie was sure there would have been murder done within the hour. He'd been seriously contemplating his chances of making it to the continent if he gave in to temptation and strangled the git. Luckily, Chris's arrival allowed Rory to concentrate on something else besides his own suffering, and the distraction did more than anything Charlie had done so far to improve his mood. 

Charlie stayed out of sight in the kitchen while the men talked upstairs. He put the groceries away (and thank heavens Chris had brought all the items he'd asked for - he didn't think he'd have been able to survive if Rory had to go without marmalade as well as without bacon), and placed the new tray on the kitchen bench, ready to use that evening. After that, he sat down in the living room, happy that there was someone else to look after Rory, even it was only for a few minutes. He put the TV on and caught up with the weekend's sports results. There wasn't much, of course, since most of Europe was on holiday - just county cricket matches and some overseas games - but at least it was something, and he could let himself relax for a few minutes. 

Chris's head appeared in the doorway about twenty minutes later, and Charlie hurriedly pulled his feet off the coffee table. 

"The boss wants the TV brought up to his room." 

Charlie was surprised and annoyed. "I asked him earlier if he wanted it taken up and he said no." 

"Looks like he's changed his mind." 

"Fuckwit," he muttered under his breath, but Chris heard him anyway. 

"Language, kid. Show a little respect." 

Charlie fumed. It wasn't as if Rory treated him with any respect, was it? And if the TV was upstairs there wasn't going to be much chance of him watching the cricket (or anything else) in peace. But he held his tongue and helped Chris to unplug the TV and take it upstairs. It took several minutes, since the TV was large and heavy, and the stairs rather narrow, but they got to the top with no real drama. They placed the set, somewhat precariously, on top of the chest of drawers (which they had to shift along the wall until it was in the right position), and plugged the aerial cable into the socket. 

The picture was excellent quality, which pleased Rory and relieved Charlie - one less thing for Rory to complain about. 

"You're lucky having a TV outlet in the bedrooms," he pronounced, still annoyed with his patient. "Wish we had that at our place. We've only got an inside aerial and I'm always trying to get it to work properly. Have you ever thought about getting one of those widescreen TVs?" 

"Have you ever thought about keeping your mouth shut? Oh, fuck," Rory winced as his ribs caught again and he tried to cough. 

"Sorry. Here, let me," Charlie moved in and pressed a hand gently over the bruised area, steadying the ribs. 

Rory leaned back against the pillows, exhausted by the brief effort. 

"I guess it's time for more pills," Charlie murmured as he broke them out of the foil. "Here," he held them out with a glass of water. "Get these down you and have a rest, play with the remote control or something. Just don't get out of bed without calling me. All right?" 

Rory swallowed the pills but gave no other evidence that he'd heard a word Charlie was saying. 

Charlie pressed on, regardless of the silence. "You going to be all right for a couple of minutes? I'll see Chris out and then put the kettle on." 

Rory gave a slight nod at that, so Chris and Charlie went down the stairs. 

"I swear it's worse than looking after a baby," Charlie said in exasperation as they reached the front door. "At least a baby doesn't argue back." 

Chris looked sympathetic. "Hang in there, kid. You're doing fine." 

Charlie sighed. "I'll try. But I'm not a nurse, you know. What if he's got lung problems? What if his kidneys are damaged? What if he's got bleeding in the head? What do I do then?" 

"Look, if he's a lot worse tomorrow we can talk about calling a doctor. But I've seen a lot of beatings, and he looks OK to me." 

"Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

Charlie felt very much relieved at Chris's confidence. "OK, I'll see how he goes tomorrow. But if he starts going off his head, or has a fever or something, then I'm calling the doctor." 

"I'm sure everything'll be fine." 

"Yeah. And thanks for bringing in all that stuff." 

"No problem. See you tomorrow." 

"See you." Charlie closed the door behind him softly. 

When Charlie went back upstairs a few minutes later, with a fresh pot on the new tray, his patient was morose and taciturn, but no longer bloody-minded. He accepted the mug of tea with a faint smile, and Charlie felt some of the tension disappear. 

"What do you want for tea? Chris brought some bacon in so I can make you that bacon sarnie if you like, or there's fish and chips, or a frozen pizza." 

"Pizza. But some extra cheese on it - they never put enough on those things." 

"No problem." 

~~~~~ 

Charlie had hoped that TV and pizza would settle Rory down, but it wasn't the case. Rory wasn't happy with the pizza, or the TV shows being broadcast, or anything else, and tried, as best he could, to vent his anger on Charlie at every opportunity. Charlie hung on to his temper for as long as he could, but eventually exploded, in a near-repeat of the afternoon's argument, saying, "Well, you can do what you like because I'm going downstairs and I couldn't give a flying fuck what happens to you anymore." 

He stormed out, listening to the cursing as he descended the stairs, and slammed the living room door behind him before flinging himself down on the sofa. Nothing was worth this much grief, he fumed, not even protecting his family. 

Only a few seconds later, though, he got up and opened the door again, pushing it as far as it would go. It was one thing to walk away in a temper, quite another to risk not hearing if Rory really needed help. 

  


_Monday 16 August 7:30 am_

Charlie woke up to bright sunlight, the beams pouring through the gaps in the curtains and hitting the far wall, making the room look at once bright and gloomy. He glanced over to the other side of the bed and saw that Rory was lying unmoving on the pillows, It had been a restless night, and Charlie had twice got up to give Rory painkillers and replace the icepacks, but the small lines on his patient's forehead suggested that more of each would be needed soon. 

He stood up and stretched. It felt good to move, and he stretched this way and that, easing out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. He needed some exercise, but he doubted he'd be able to get away - although Rory had mentioned that he could go to the supermarket. 

He snorted. It was an indication of the state of his pathetic existence that a trip to the supermarket was an exciting prospect. 

"Charlie?" 

He turned around and looked at his patient. "How are you feeling?" he asked. 

Rory grunted. "Fuck," was all he managed to get out before he reacted to the pain of breathing in. 

"That bad?" Charlie said as he walked around the bed and popped another two tablets from the blister pack. He helped Rory to sit up a little to take the tablets. "Do you want some tea?" 

Rory nodded, then said, "Bathroom." 

Charlie lifted the bottle from the bedside table, but Rory shook his head and shifted around in the bed, wincing as his ribs caught again. Charlie helped him to sit up, and to bring his legs around over the edge of the bed. Getting Rory to stand up was much harder - he was still weak in the left leg, and Charlie couldn't exert any pressure on his chest or shoulders to help. 

Rory was trying to swear under his breath. 

"Save your breath, mate," Charlie advised him. "It's going to be another long day." 

They made their way to the bathroom, where Charlie assisted Rory to loosen his trousers and sit down. "Are you going to be OK for a couple of minutes?" 

Rory nodded. 

"OK then, I'll go and put the kettle on, make you a nice cup of tea." He grinned, adding, "Yeah, I know, I know, toast and marmalade as well." 

Rory smiled faintly, which pleased Charlie but also worried him. Rory seemed much more passive today, and Charlie wondered if the pain was worse, or if yesterday's experiences had led him to accept that he did need help in the short term. Either way, made it a little easier for Charlie to look after him if he wasn't fighting every inch of the way. 

He hurried down the stairs and made the promised tea and toast, making sure that the new pot of marmalade was sitting prominently on the tray. When he took the tray up to the bedroom, he found that Rory had managed to straighten himself up and wash his hands, but, like yesterday morning, hadn't been able to negotiate the open space between the bathroom floor and the bed unassisted. At least this time he hadn't tried it on his own. Charlie put the tray down and helped the invalid back to bed, fluffing up the pillows and smoothing the sheets. 

Once Rory was comfortable, he lifted the tray and settled it over Rory's thighs, checking to make sure the legs were locked down and that it didn't tilt too far. He tucked the sheet up under Rory's chin, like a napkin, to divert any crumbs, and straightened up, pleased with how smoothly things were going. 

He left his patient to eat his breakfast in peace and went down to the kitchen for his own meal which consisted, unsurprisingly, of toast, though he decided to forego the marmalade in favour of a liberal spreading of butter, which melted and ran down his fingers as he lifted the toast. He licked it off, not wanting to leave buttery fingerprints everywhere. 

Chris arrived at eight-thirty with a newspaper, milk and bread. Charlie took the groceries and continued cleaning up the breakfast things, while Chris went up to talk to Rory in peace. He came down again after about twenty minutes, and stuck his head into the kitchen. 

"The Boss says you have a list of stuff to get at the supermarket." 

Charlie frowned. That wasn't quite what he remembered of their conversation the day before. "He doesn't want me to go myself?" 

"Not that he told me. You shouldn't leave him at the moment anyway." 

"I need the break." He sighed. It wasn't that important, really. He'd written the list down anyway, so he retrieved it from the bench top and handed it to Chris. "Here you are. Don't leave anything out - he wants me to do some cooking so I need everything that's on there." 

"I won't." 

"Umm..." 

"What is it?" 

"Oh, nothing." He rubbed his eyes. "It's just that I'm really tired. He hasn't slept well at all. I was wondering if there are any sleeping tablets you can get without a prescription?" 

Chris looked at him quizzically. "For him or for you?" 

"For him. I'll sleep if he does." 

"I'll pop into the chemist and see what I can do." 

"Thanks, Chris." He gave the man a genuine smile and watched him leave. 

He looked around the kitchen. The floor could do with being swept, and the sheets he'd taken off the bed yesterday really ought to be washed. He grimaced. He was turning into a right little queen with all this domesticity. Just for that, he decided to leave the sheets in the laundry basket for another day. 

Chris returned an hour later with the bag of groceries and a small packet of gel capsules that he put on the kitchen table. 

"The chemist said that these are pretty mild, but they should give him about five or six hours sleep. I asked if they were safe to take with the painkillers and he said they should be all right as long as he's not on the really strong stuff." 

Charlie smiled gratefully. "Thanks. I'll give him a couple tonight. I'm sure he'll be a little easier after a good night's sleep." 

"You look like you could use them yourself." 

"You're not wrong." He yawned, and smiled ruefully as he closed his mouth. "Sorry. It really was a rough night." 

"I saw the postman coming down the drive as I came back - you might want to check the mailbox." 

"Thanks. I'll get the key off Rory in a minute." 

Chris gave him a slightly odd look but said nothing and continued on his way. 

When told about the post, Rory told him to take the spare set of keys from the hall table. Charlie scrabbled around in the drawer until he found them - there were four keys on the ring, and he guessed that the smallest was for the mailbox. He walked out of the flat and down to where the mailboxes for all the flats were situated, just outside the main door. He scanned the numbers until he found the one for Rory's flat and slid the key into the lock. The box opened smoothly, revealing three thin letters. 

He flicked through the envelopes - it was an automatic reaction, even though he knew that none of the letters could possibly be for him. There was a letter from National Geographic, one from the local council and one in a brown OHMS envelope, addressed to a Mr Francis McManus. He wondered if that was Rory, or if someone had got his name mixed up with someone else. He checked the other two again, and found that they were addressed to Mr F. R. McManus. Well, it wasn't a crime to use your second name, and Rory was certainly preferable to Francis. 

The breeze was quite cool on his skin, and when he looked up there were clouds on the horizon. He guessed that it would be raining before the day was over, and smiled. _Looks like Rory gets treacle pudding weather after all._ He exchanged a polite greeting with an elderly woman who had obviously come out on the same errand and headed back into the building. 

Once back inside he hurried up to the bedroom. "Three letters," he said, holding them out. "One's addressed to a Francis McManus - I'm not sure if that's you or not." 

Rory took them, giving the brown one a morose look. "Aye, that's me," he said, but didn't elaborate, and Charlie, looking at his expression, didn't think it was a good time to press the subject. 

Instead he returned to the kitchen, where he made himself a coffee and started to think about what he'd need to cook lunch. He had plenty of time yet, but it didn't hurt to be prepared, and he deserved a break anyway - he'd hardly had a moment to himself the last few days. He held his hands around the coffee mug, sipping as he let his mind drift, and started to hum to himself. 

He was roused from his thoughts by the unmistakable sound of the toilet flushing, and realised that Rory had, once again, managed to get to the bathroom on his own. Remembering what had happened yesterday afternoon, he raced up the stairs at near the speed of light and confronted Rory as the man was standing in the doorway between bathroom and bedroom. 

"And what do you think you're doing?" 

"Fuck off." 

"I'd love to, but I've been given the job of looking after you, and I don't fancy trying to explain to Chris why you've collected a few more bruises since he was here last." 

Rory glared at him, and Charlie felt an absurd desire to laugh. "Come on, let me give you a hand. Then I'll get you some more ice - I reckon those packs must be warm by now." 

"They are. Useless fucking things." 

"Look, I know you're getting bored out of your skull here, but it will get better, honest. Mum says the third day is always the worst. Tomorrow it'll start to ease off, and in just a couple of days you'll feel a whole lot better. 

They reached the bed and Charlie helped Rory ease himself between the sheets. Charlie straightened everything up as best he could, and picked up the used ice-packs and the tea tray. "I'll get you some more ice and tea - or would you prefer coffee?" 

"Coffee. And there's a tin of biscuits on the top shelf of the pantry cupboard - you can bring that up as well." 

"OK, coffee it is, and I'll look for the biscuits. Then I'll get cracking on lunch - your egg-and-bacon pie. Do you want cheese in it?" 

"Yes." 

"Right then." 

He went down to the kitchen and opened the cupboard doors. He couldn't see anything, so he grabbed a chair and stood on it to see up into the top shelf. There was a tin of Danish butter cookies at the back, still sealed, and he brought it down to have a closer look. The use-by date was June 1999 - two months ago. Still, he thought, they would probably be all right as long as they were eaten reasonably soon after opening. 

He prepared the tray and debated whether to take up the whole tin or to put a few of the biscuits on a plate. He decided to put some on a plate - three or four. It would look better, and it would prevent Rory from scoffing too many and then complaining he didn't want lunch. If Charlie was going to go to the trouble of cooking for Rory, he wanted Rory to appreciate it. 

~~~~~ 

The egg-and-bacon pie turned out beautifully - golden on top, moist but not runny on the inside, and the pastry firm but not brittle. Charlie was very pleased with himself for having produced such a marvel in a strange oven. The aroma that came off it was mouth-watering, and Charlie carried it upstairs whole so that Rory could see the pie in all its glory before it was cut. 

Rory certainly looked appreciative as Charlie came into the room, and hurriedly cleared away the newspaper that was sitting over his knees. 

"That smells fantastic," he said as Charlie put the pie on the bedside table and picked up the knife to cut it. 

"Wait till you taste it," Charlie answered, and cut a large wedge, easing it onto the waiting plate and handing it over to Rory with a fork. 

Rory took a forkful, sniffing appreciatively. 

"Careful, it's hot," warned Charlie, and took Rory's plate, cutting the pie up into small chunks so that Rory wouldn't have to try and put pressure on a knife. 

Rory took a small bite, nodding as he assimilated the flavours. "It’s good," he said, with more enthusiasm than he'd shown all day. "Excellent." He dived in with his fork and speared another piece. 

Charlie beamed. He loved seeing the happy expressions of people who ate his food, and a happy Rory was likely to be an easy-to-manage Rory. He might even get a bit of a kip this afternoon, if he was really lucky. 

~~~~~ 

After lunch, Rory wanted a shower, but Charlie was reluctant to allow it. 

"I'll give you another wash," he offered. "You shouldn't be exerting yourself right now." 

"I want a fucking shower. My scalp's all itchy and I want to wash my hair." 

"You can't lift your arms up that high anyway." 

"Well you can do it then." 

"What, get in the shower with you?" 

"Why not? I'm not going to see anything I haven't seen already. Or vice versa." 

"Well, no, but... oh, all right." He gave Rory a teasing grin. "Anything to stop you complaining." 

"Anything to stop you acting like Genghis Bloody Khan." 

"And there I was channelling Florence Nightingale," he countered with a long-suffering smile. 

It was odd, thought Charlie, as he gently massaged Rory's scalp a few minutes later, how something like this could be so much more intimate than a shag. Here he was, standing a few inches away from Rory, the suds running down his forearms as he applied the shampoo, and yet in some ways he felt closer to the man now than he had when Rory was inside him. He couldn't explain it. It just was. 

When Rory tilted his head back to rinse off, Charlie lifted his arms to cradle Rory's body, making sure he didn't lose his balance. He felt his own heart thumping as Rory leaned against him, back to chest, and was very glad that Rory couldn't see the funny little smile on his face as they moved under the water. It felt good, holding Rory like this - protecting him and looking after him - and he could happily have stayed there as long as the hot water held out. Unfortunately, Rory was beginning to tire, so Charlie switched off the water and helped Rory to get out. 

Rory looked suddenly exhausted, and swayed a little. 

"I think we'd better get you back to bed," said Charlie, grabbing a towel and patting him down quickly. Luckily the day was still warm, so his patient wasn't likely to get a chill, and he guided Rory across the open floor to the bed, helping him to sit down and then lifting his legs and swinging them up onto the bed. 

"You take a bit of a rest and I'll clean up, then I'll get you some more tablets." 

Rory nodded, but his eyes were already closed, and Charlie hoped that he'd have a good nap. At least he was breathing a little more comfortably now, after finally giving in and taking the painkillers Charlie had proffered. 

Charlie stood there for several minutes, just looking at the man's face. He felt that he'd never get tired of watching Rory, especially when he was asleep. The hard, forbidding expression disappeared entirely and he was left with the innocent, almost cherubic features that had attracted Charlie the first time he'd seen the man. 

It was such an odd situation, he reflected. Here he was, Rory's rent-boy, his slave for the month, and yet Rory was the one who was helpless in bed. If he wanted to, Charlie knew he could take his revenge on Rory for every threat he'd made, every humiliation he'd made Charlie endure, and Rory couldn't do a thing. Well... not until the next time Chris called in, at least, and at that point Charlie's life would come to a sharp and deeply unpleasant end. He hadn't needed Chris's warning, though. He wouldn't hurt Rory when he was helpless - it just wasn't his way. 

Rory stirred, and Charlie felt a rush of warmth and love for this strange contradiction of a man, who acted so tough and looked so fragile, who treated him like a possession but then defended him against his own brother. 

_Hang about -_

Oh fuck. No, it couldn't possibly... 

As Charlie mentally replayed the thoughts that had just run through his mind, he felt a wave of nauseated realisation. He wasn't in love with Rory McManus. He _wasn't._ He couldn't be. It was absolutely, flatly, irrefutably impossible. The man was a criminal, a moneylender, a gangster who beat up anyone who couldn't pay. He only took Charlie on because of the debt Liam had incurred, because Charlie gave good head. He didn't like Charlie, he didn't love Charlie, he certainly wasn't going to ask Charlie to be his boyfriend. If he ever realised that Charlie lo- _liked_ him, he'd just use it as a weapon. 

_Information is a weapon._

Charlie couldn't remember where he'd read that, but he knew it had to be true. And this information would be the ultimate weapon if Rory ever found out. He couldn't let Rory have that much power over him. He couldn't ever let Rory know just how he felt about him. He'd have to act normal, so Rory didn't suspect anything, but he'd keep his feelings hidden, and at the end of the month they'd go their separate ways and Charlie would take good care that he kept well away from anywhere that Rory might be. He'd be safe. He'd never see Rory again. 

Strange how it hurt, to think of not seeing him again. 

_Life is pain._

Another platitude, one he had a feeling he was going to get to know very well. 

Fuck. 


	13. Chapter 13

_Wednesday 18 August 1999, 11am_

Charlie paced around the kitchen, absent-mindedly gnawing at a hang-nail, while the sound of the cleaning lady doing the vacuuming came through from the living-room. She'd startled him, opening the door with her key and stepping in as if she owned the place – he'd demanded to know who she was and what she was doing, and had raced up to check with Rory before finally allowing her to start work. And now she was going through all the rooms, tidying and cleaning and getting in the way... or, rather, making it perfectly clear that Charlie was the one who was in her way. 

To make things worse, he had a tune running through his head and he really wanted to work on it and write it down. With no guitar or piano, though, there was little chance of doing that, and he was getting more and more frustrated by the minute. It was a good tune, too - a lilting melody and a complex set of harmonies that he would change slightly for each verse. He growled to himself. If he didn't start setting it down soon, he'd lose it, and he hated losing songs, especially ones as good as this one. 

He sighed and wondered if he'd be able to talk Rory into letting him have his guitar back. He'd never asked what Rory had done with the things he'd taken from the house. He'd always been afraid that they'd been sold - which was probably true - but he'd harboured a secret fantasy that Rory might have simply put them away with a view to returning them at the end of the month. 

_Yeah, right._

Coming back to reality, he wondered if he'd be able to go for a walk that afternoon - he hadn't had any exercise at all in the last few days, and he was getting very restless. He could probably leave Rory for a couple of hours without too much problem, since he was getting better now. He wondered if he should ask Rory's permission or just tell him he was going for a walk. Rory hadn't actually said he wasn't to leave, but he certainly expected Charlie to be available whenever he called. Then there was the fact that Charlie didn't have a door key. He sighed. He'd have to ask. 

The cleaning lady left at midday, leaving the place spick and span, and Charlie went up to see what Rory wanted for lunch. To his surprise, Rory announced his intention of coming downstairs for lunch, and Charlie had no option but to agree. He helped Rory to put on a loose shirt and a pair of sweat pants and shadowed him as he descended the staircase slowly, leading with his right leg. 

Rory sat in the kitchen while Charlie whipped up a quick lunch - an omelette with bacon and cheese, and several slices of toast – and then afterwards settled himself down on the sofa with a pot of tea in front of him and a book in his hand. 

Charlie decided that it was now or never. "Rory?" he ventured. 

"Hmm?" 

"Would you mind if I go out for an hour or so? I need some exercise." 

Rory looked up from his book. "No, that's OK. I doubt I'll need you for a while." 

"Would I be able to borrow the door key?" 

"There's the set in the drawer in the hall table. Don't lose it - it's my only spare." 

"I won't." He grinned. That had been a little easier than he had expected - easy enough, in fact, that he felt annoyed with himself for not asking sooner. He raced up and changed into something a little lighter than jeans. 

It was another lovely day outside, and Charlie was soon running along the path towards the shopping village. It felt good to stretch out, to feel his heart pumping and his muscles working. There weren't all that many people outdoors and he was able to let his mind wander as his legs fell into an easy stride. 

He didn't make many turnings - he didn't know the area very well, after all - but managed to complete a circuit around the Whitefield area, noting how many of the old buildings were being replaced, new shops appearing in place of boarded-up derelicts, new houses and flats going up here and there. 

He returned to the flat nearly an hour later, feeling exhausted but mentally refreshed. He poked his head through the door into the lounge. 

"I'm home," he said, and then mentally kicked himself. He wasn't _home_ \- this wasn't his home, it never would be. He should have just said he was back, but it was too late now, and he wasn’t going to make himself look even more stupid by saying anything else. 

Rory was still sitting on the sofa, but at Charlie's greeting he looked up and smiled. Charlie smiled back automatically, and his heart did a flip-flop in his chest. He caught his breath, but told himself it was just the after-effect of exercise. 

He wasn't in love with Rory McManus. He kept telling himself that. The man just had a sweet smile, that was all. It didn't mean a thing. 

Really. 

~~~~~ 

Charlie realised that his temporary ascendancy was over that evening, when he heard Rory telling Chris to pick him up at nine the following day. 

He sighed as he picked up the tea tray and took it downstairs, leaving them in peace. It wasn't that he didn't want Rory to get well, or that he wanted the pain to continue, but he had enjoyed being in charge for a while. He'd also been grateful for the reprieve from his rent-boy status - though swapping it for playing nursemaid wasn't quite what he'd been hoping for. He'd liked having Rory depend on him for all the little things that people normally took for granted - showering, eating, dressing. He'd enjoyed the relative freedom that Rory's incapacity gave him, and he'd ventured on a few petty defiances that that he hoped Rory wouldn't remember too harshly. Still, he hadn't taken out any of his own grievances on Rory. He hadn't hurt him, or denied him painkillers, or "forgotten" anything that Rory really needed. Taking out his frustrations on a fit and healthy Rory was one thing; taking them out on a broken and beaten Rory was quite another. 

He was worried, as well, that Rory was trying to do too much too soon. Pottering around the flat, with a couple of naps here and there, was a far cry from going into the office and dealing with phones and emails and defaulting debtors, and he had a feeling that Rory was going to be exhausted and bad-tempered when he got back, which meant that Charlie would take the blame for everything that that had gone wrong. That was not a pleasant prospect. 

He managed to catch Chris on his way out, and voiced his concerns. "I don't think he's going to be fit enough to go back to work tomorrow." 

"I know," said Chris, surprising Charlie with his agreement. "But it's his decision." 

"I know that," echoed Charlie. "But he'll just make things worse - he'll fall, or hit a bruise, or just exhaust himself." 

"He's the boss, Charlie. Don't fight it." 

Charlie sighed. "I won't. I just wish he'd see sense, that's all." 

Chris gave him a surprisingly sympathetic smile and headed off, closing the door gently behind him. 

Charlie stood by the door, thinking, until he heard Rory trying to call him, and went up to see what he wanted. 

  


_Thursday 19th August, 8:30 am_

Charlie helped Rory to get dressed - it was still difficult to put on shirt and jacket, but they managed it, after Charlie apologised for suggesting that Rory should abandon the jacket for once. Rory had a bit of a rest and some more painkillers before Chris turned up, and then he was away. 

Charlie watched the car move off down the driveway and thought about what to do. Rory had told him to stay put, and Charlie wasn't about to test Rory's temper, especially not when he was likely to come back tired and fractious. That meant he couldn't risk going back to the house, or to his parents' place. 

He looked around. There wasn't much that needed doing in the flat after the cleaning lady had been the day before; only a few dishes and a bit of tidying to do. He thought that Rory would appreciate some clean sheets on the bed when he got back, so he changed the sheets again and put the dirty ones in the washing machine. That more-or-less exhausted the domestic chores and he sat down in the lounge and simply enjoyed the peace and quiet. 

It was quiet here. There wasn't even much traffic noise, and it was strangely peaceful just to sit and do nothing for a few minutes. It was the first time he'd been able to relax properly for five days, the first time he hadn't had to keep an ear listening for Rory's voice, and he was going to take advantage of it - after he'd had a little rest on the sofa. Yes, just a little rest... 

He didn't realise how tired he' been until he woke up when the door opened. He glanced at his watch in confusion - surely they had only just left? - and found that it was past one o'clock. He scrambled up, rubbing his eyes blearily, and making a mental note that the sofa was not terribly comfortable to sleep on. He ventured out into the hall and found Chris helping Rory to get up the stairs. 

"Oh, hi," he greeted them. "I didn't think you'd be back so early." 

Rory didn't answer, and Charlie saw that he was fighting to stay upright. Well, it was no more than he'd expected. He moved to Rory's side and slung an arm around his hips to help support his weight. With Chris on one side and Charlie on the other, Rory was manoeuvred up the stairs and into the bedroom. They'd made the same trip five days previously, but this time Rory wasn't quite so bad, and they were able to move a little more quickly. 

Once in the bedroom Charlie was able to get Rory undressed, into his pyjamas and lying down on the fresh, clean sheets in just a few minutes. Chris had brought up a jug of water and the ice packs, and Charlie forced some more tablets into their patient. Rory managed to summon up the energy to mutter his thanks before falling into another exhausted sleep. 

Chris and Charlie headed down to the kitchen. 

"Thanks for bringing him back." 

Chris nodded his acknowledgment, and Charlie continued, "Did he say he wanted to go back tomorrow?" 

"No, he didn't say anything about it." 

"I hope he doesn't. He needs more rest." 

"He's the boss, kid. He'll decide." 

"I know, but... I just don't want him to exhaust himself and not get better." He bit his lip as he tried to sort out various possibilities. "Maybe I should just assume he's not going in tomorrow, and then he can call you if he wants you to pick him up." 

"Aye, lad. You do that." Chris turned to go. "Is there anything you need?" 

"More painkillers. I think that's all." 

"Do you need them today?" 

Charlie visualised the packet in his mind. "No - there are three or four doses left, so that would see him through to tomorrow, but he'll probably run out by lunchtime." He smiled weakly. "At least if he takes his tablets he'll get a bit of sleep, and I can relax then. It's when he thinks he can do without them he gets into trouble." 

"You're managing." 

"Yeah, well, not much else to do anyway." 

"I'll drop in during the morning then." 

Charlie smiled at him. "That would be great. Thanks." 

"No problem, kid." 

Charlie let him out and then went up the stairs to check on Rory. The man was already asleep, his face in repose looking young and fragile and vulnerable, and Charlie wished that he could do something to help him get better faster. He leaned over the supine form, making minute adjustments to the bedclothes, trying to ensure that there was no pressure on the worst of the bruises. It was no more than any nurse would have done, he told himself. Nothing more than that. 

He was getting very good at this denial thing. 

~~~~~ 

It wasn't until they were watching the news that evening that Charlie remembered Tessa's results. He wondered how she'd done, then why Liam hadn’t called him. Guiltily, he remembered that he'd switched the mobile phone off on Monday, in the belief that he didn't need it on while he was with Rory. For all he knew, Liam might have been trying to ring him all day. 

He got up off the bed and strode over to his backpack, rummaging through the contents until he found it.. After switching it on and keying in his PIN, he waited anxiously for a few seconds for the connection, but there were no missed calls or messages. Liam hadn't called him at all. 

"Bastard," he muttered under his breath. 

"What is it?" asked Rory, diverting his attention from the TV. 

"Tess's A-level results came out today. Liam was going to pick them up and let everyone know how she went." 

"I take he didn't ring." 

"No. Could I use the phone for a minute? I'll see if he's at home." 

Rory nodded, but as Charlie went to leave the room, he called out, "Where're you going?" 

Charlie halted. "Just downstairs. I was going to use the extension in the living room so I didn’t disturb you." 

Rory nodded to the phone beside the bed. "Use that one. There's nothing worth watching anyway." He took the remote and muted the TV sound. 

Charlie walked to the beside table and picked up the handset a little self-consciously. He was quite sure he wanted to be discussing things in front of Rory, but he could hardly disobey him, especially after he had made a point of turning the TV down. 

He dialled the number to the flat and listened to the ringtone. It seemed to go on forever, but, eventually, he heard the ringing stop and a slurred voice said "Yeah, who is it?" 

"HI Ben, it's Charlie." 

"Hi Charlie. How are you?" 

"I'm fine, thanks. Look, is Liam there?" 

"No, man, haven’t seen him." 

"Damn. Do you know if he's gone to Mum and Dad's?" 

"No, sorry. Hey, Charlie..." 

"What?" 

"Hey." 

Charlie sighed. He obviously wasn't going to get much sense out of Ben tonight. In fact, he'd be lucky if Ben even remembered the call in the morning. 

"Ben, just tell Liam to ring me, OK?" 

"Tell Liam to ring me. Got it." 

"No - tell him to ring Charlie." 

"Ring Charlie." 

"That's right. Tell Liam to ring Charlie." 

"OK, man." 

"Bye now." 

"Bye." 

He put the phone down, but didn't move away. 

"Not home?" asked Rory. 

"No," said Charlie, with a frown on his face, "and Ben doesn't know where he is. I'll have to try and ring him at work tomorrow." He sighed. "I hope he remembered. Tess almost refused to go to Ireland this year, she was so anxious about the results." 

"Is she likely to fail?" 

Charlie shook his head. "She's pretty bright. But she wants to do nursing in London - the Florence Nightingale school at King's College. It's really tough to get in, and she needs a grant as well. Mum and Dad can't afford to support her in London, and she won't have time for a job, so if she doesn't get the grant she'll have to go to college here and stay on at home." He sighed. "If the band were a success we could help her out." 

"You can't do everything, kid. If she's bright, she'll manage." 

"I guess so." Charlie didn't really sound convinced. 

Rory fiddled with the remote control until he found another news programme and turned the volume up. 

  


_Friday 20 August_

"First Manchester Real Estate, Liam speaking. How may I help you?" The voice was polite, cultured and professional. Charlie had difficulty in recognising it, but as far as he knew his brother was the only Liam working there. 

"Liam? It's Charlie." 

"Oh." The bright professional interest disappeared. "What do you want?" 

"How did Tess do in her A-levels?" 

"Really well - one A and three Bs." 

"Hey, that's fantastic! Was she pleased?" 

"Yep. She's keeping her fingers crossed about the place though - she won't know for a few days yet." 

"Yeah, I guess so. How are they doing over there?" 

"The usual, from what I gather. It's cold, it's raining, and Mum and Auntie Bridie are arguing like crazy." 

Charlie grinned. "Sounds normal. I'm so glad I don't have to do that any more." 

"Me too." They shared a moment of less-than-fond remembrance of holidays past. "Charlie?" 

"What?" 

"Are you OK? I mean... is this thing getting to you? Because if it is, I may be able to do something." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, Mrs Doherty, the office manager, she's gone off sick, and the all the senior reps are away, so I'm the only one here. If things are getting too much for you I could maybe borrow the money from the office, pay off McManus and then we'd have a chance at getting back on our feet." 

Charlie was taken aback. On the one hand, it was the nicest thing Liam had said to him in weeks, and he knew that Liam was genuinely concerned about him. On the other... well, to be perfectly honest, he didn't really want the month to end early. Sure, Rory had been a complete prick for a couple of days, but then he'd been in a lot of pain, and that would make anyone bad-tempered. But yesterday had been great, and even today had been OK, once Rory had got over his disappointment at having to come home early. It wouldn't be long before Rory was up for fucking him again, and he found himself actually looking forward to that. 

_Gods, I must be sick,_ he thought to himself. 

"Thanks," he managed to stammer at last. "Thanks, Liam, but to be truthful, it's not so bad. There's only another ten days to go anyway, and we did agree to a month. I'm not sure he'd allow any change in the agreement, even if we did come up with the money." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, yes I'm sure. But thanks for offering, bro', I appreciate it." 

"No problem. I'll see you sometime." 

"Yeah. Bye." 

Charlie put the phone down and stood there for a couple of minutes. Something Liam had said... no, it had gone. He went back to making lunch, putting his vague unease to the back of his mind. 

It wasn't until later that afternoon that he realised what had been troubling him - the "borrowing" that Liam had suggested so calmly was actually criminal embezzlement. 

Thank God he'd turned it down. 

~~~~~ 

They'd moved the TV back downstairs that afternoon, he and Chris, so now Charlie was watching the cricket highlights while Rory caught up with some accounts that Chris had brought with him. The game wasn't terribly exciting, but Charlie didn't mind. He was just glad he was here, and not stuck with Liam for the weekend. 

Sighing, Rory put his pen down and shuffled the papers together, then pushed his chair back from the desk and stretched, wincing a little as his ribs caught. He walked behind the sofa, ruffled Charlie's hair and continued to the door. 

"Come on, lad," he said, yawning. "Time for bed." 

Charlie raised an eyebrow - it was only eight in the evening after all, and the sun hadn’t even set yet - but he thumbed the remote control and threw it down on the coffee table. He followed Rory up the stairs and into the bedroom, but hesitated. He wasn't quite sure what Rory wanted - well, besides the obvious - and he waited for instructions. 

Rory looked over at him. "What are you waiting for?" 

Charlie shrugged, as gracefully as he could. "Not sure what you want me to do. Strip and lie down? Back rub? Shower?" 

Rory frowned as he unbuttoned his shirt. He grimaced as he took it off, but otherwise he was much improved. "I want to fuck you, so yeah, strip and lie down." 

Charlie complied, placing a pillow under his hips and making himself comfortable as Rory reached into the drawer for the lubricant and a condom. He spread his legs and twisted around to watch Rory kneeling a little awkwardly on the bed. It was clear to Charlie, at least, that Rory wasn't quite as recovered as he was pretending. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. "I could suck you off, if you like. Or wank you. You don't have to fuck me." 

"I'm going to fuck you. Now turn around and shut up." He placed a dollop of lube in his fingers and breached Charlie quickly. 

Charlie jumped at the cold and the intrusion. He took a couple of deep breaths, forcing himself to relax, and felt the familiar burn and stretch as Rory's fingers scissored inside him. It had been over a week since he'd had anything inside him, and he was glad that Rory was generous with the lube. He bit into his lip and squirmed as a third and fourth finger entered him. He warmed up quickly, and suddenly was eager for Rory to push inside him, to fill him and cover him and come inside him. 

He felt Rory adjust his position on the bed, and heard the hitched breath as Rory tried to support his own weight on his arm as he moved into position. He felt the bed start to shake, and then a violent movement and a loud curse as Rory had to pull back. 

"Fucking bloody hell!" 

Charlie immediately twisted his head around. He could see that Rory was sitting back on his heels, his face contorted with pain and his hand clutching his left side. Charlie scrambled up and turned around so that he was kneeling in front of Rory. 

"It's only been a week," he said, trying to sound calm as he gently palpated Rory's ribs, wondering if the man had done any serious damage to himself. "You can't expect to support your weight yet." 

Rory snarled and pushed Charlie's hand away. "Shut up and roll over. I'll do this." 

"No." 

It wasn't often that Charlie refused an order, and Rory's eyebrows rose. "What did you say?" he hissed, his voice redolent with menace. 

"Look, you can't do it this way - your arms and ribs just aren't up to it yet. Let me suck you off. You know how good I am at that." 

"I said I was going to fuck you and that what's I'm bloody well going to do." The strain in his voice, however, was clearly audible, and Charlie snorted in exasperation. He had to stop Rory from injuring himself, the stubborn git, or there'd be hell to pay from Chris in the morning. 

"Fine. You can fuck me - just not like this." He frantically ran through all the positions he knew, trying to think of one that would be suitable for Rory and not aggravate his injuries. Ah, yes, there was _that_ one... "Look, you're OK on your back, so how about you just lie down and I'll ride you, eh? You still get to fuck me, but I do all the work." 

Rory looked doubtful, but Charlie pushed him gently down onto the mattress. 

"Trust me," he cajoled. "This'll be fantastic." He straightened out Rory's legs and knelt astride him. He took hold of Rory's cock and pulled it slowly a few times, watching it revive, watching Rory's breathing become a little more rapid, though not, he thought, painful. He inched his way up until he was positioned slightly forward of Rory's hips, then reached behind him. Leaning forward, he placed Rory's cock at his entrance, then moved very slowly back and down, impaling himself on the now-rigid erection. 

He couldn't help letting out a slow hiss of breath as he was stretched and filled - oh, it felt so bloody good, so unbelievably good. His eyes met Rory's, and he realised that he was going to be able to watch Rory come. That thought made his own cock twitch in anticipation. 

He eased himself up a little, then down, gradually taking in more and more inside until he was resting on Rory's hips. He straightened up and moved again, smiling as the change in position brought his prostate into contact with the thick shaft inside him. He gave Rory a wild, feral grin. 

Rory's face betrayed his complete and utter surprise, and Charlie guessed that he hadn't been in this position before. 

"Told you," he whispered, and started to rock his hips. 

There was something amazing about this - being fucked but being in control. He hadn't done it this way in over a year, and he'd forgotten just how brilliant it could be. He pulled at his dick - more to stop it bouncing around than anything else, since he certainly didn’t need the additional stimulation when he had Rory's face to watch - and let himself move up and down the length, groaning as it rubbed his prostate. Bloody brilliant. 

It was only a couple of minutes later than Rory's ragged breathing and glazed eyes warned Charlie that he was getting close to his climax. Charlie increased the pace, ignoring the fatigue in his thighs, spurred on by the incredible, ecstatic, transported look on Rory's face. Suddenly, Rory's eyes rolled up and his body arched, and Charlie felt him straining to be even deeper inside. He wished, briefly, that they were fucking without a condom so that he could feel the hot fluid hitting him inside, but had no time to consider it in more detail as his stomach flipped and his heart stopped and his own climax had him spilling all over Rory's chest and stomach. 

His thighs collapsed and he leaned forward. He was only inches away when Rory opened his eyes, and they looked at each other wordlessly. Charlie wanted to lean in a little closer and kiss Rory. He really, really wanted to do that, but he couldn't - kissing Rory would be unforgivably stupid. Instead, he pulled back very slowly then eased himself off the now-limp cock, taking care to stop the condom coming off as he moved. 

A tissue and a few seconds later and they were both a little cleaner. Rory hadn't moved since his orgasm, and Charlie wondered if he'd done something wrong. His breathing was all right though - a little rapid, but even and deep, so the unaccustomed activity hadn't done any damage. On the other hand, he might have just fucked Rory's brains out. He liked that thought. 

He hurried into the bathroom to clean himself up, hoping that Rory hadn't got a glimpse of the smirk that threatened to break out onto his face. 


	14. Chapter 14

_Monday 23 August_

In later weeks, Charlie was to regret that he never went home on that Monday. If he had, maybe he would have been able to stop Liam – even though, as it turned out, it didn't really matter in the long run. Still, it would have avoided a lot of unpleasantness and recriminations. Especially at home. 

It was his own fault he hadn't gone home that day, and he knew it. Rory had gone into work at his usual time of nine, dropping Charlie off in town, with instructions that he was to be back at the office no later than six. Even though Rory was much improved, Charlie was convinced that Rory or Chris was going to call him back early, and so instead of heading out to the house he mooched around town all day, calling in at the job centre first, then spending a couple of hours at the library. As the afternoon progressed, he realised that Rory was a lot more stubborn than he had envisaged, and by four he was resigned to the fact that he'd wasted his entire day. 

He got to the office around five-thirty. Chris was sitting at the desk, as usual, while Ken was leaning back on one of the waiting room chairs. Charlie immediately sensed that there was something going on, something not entirely comfortable, and kept his greeting short and to the point. 

He took a seat close to the door, dropped his pack to the ground and dragged out a paperback. It was actually one of Rory's that he'd picked up over the weekend, and he was glad that he'd thought to bring it with him. He opened it at the bookmark and began to read. 

Whatever Rory was doing in his office, he was being fairly quiet about it. There was barely a sound emerging from the inner room, and Charlie had completely immersed himself in the book by the time the door opened. He looked up, startled. 

Rory looked across at him and Charlie could see the flare of interest, quickly masked. He decided to keep things formal in front of Ken. 

"Good afternoon, Mr McManus," he said respectfully, and was pleased to see a slight softening of Rory's expression. 

"You’re on time. Good." Rory promptly turned to Chris and started a low-voiced conversation about a particular client, but Charlie wasn't listening. He'd got the message - Rory had approved of his greeting - and it made him both happy and sad. 

It was odd, though, that they had to resort to such subterfuge in front of what Charlie had assumed to be a subordinate. It was as if he had joined Rory and Chris in a conspiracy to present a front to Ken, a distorted image that hid the realities. 

Rory straightened up. He looked tired, thought Charlie, which was hardly surprising since it was his first full day back in the office. No doubt he'd had a lot to do. At least they weren't likely to be going out tonight (not that there was much available on a Monday evening). A quiet night in, watching TV or a video, was more in line with Rory's capabilities at the moment, and after the day Charlie had had he didn’t feel like doing anything energetic. He returned to his book, content to wait until Rory had finished whatever he was doing and was ready to go. 

It wasn't until nearly half past six that Rory appeared at his doorway again. "All right, Chris, you and Ken can go now. We'll sort out the rest tomorrow." 

"Do you need a driver, boss?" asked Ken. 

Rory shook his head. "No, I'll get the kid to do that - make him earn his keep." 

Ken nodded. Chris finished up something on the computer and then started shutting down. "You go, boss," he said. "I'll lock up." 

Rory nodded and turned to the door. Charlie stuffed the book into his pack and stood up. "Would you like me to bring the car around to the front, Mr McManus?" 

"Aye," Rory's short answer was accompanied by a short, dismissive nod, so Charlie took the keys that Ken proffered, hoisted the pack onto his shoulder and set off down the stairs to the car park. 

The Camry was in its usual place, and he was able to back it out and drive it up the ramp a lot more easily this time. He brought the car around to the loading zone in front of the main entrance and waited until Rory appeared at the door 

Rory was quiet on the journey home. Charlie glanced at him once or twice, when they were stopped at traffic lights, and saw that his face was pale and drawn, lines furrowing his brow and mouth. He'd obviously been holding himself together on will-power alone for the last couple of hours, and it had exhausted him. Charlie wondered if he'd taken any painkillers at all since that morning. He didn't ask out loud though - Rory would likely bite his head off just for mentioning it. They'd be home soon enough, and he could deal with it there. 

Correction - they'd be at Rory's flat soon enough. 

He brought the car to a smooth stop outside the main entrance, and walked around to open the door for Rory, who got out slowly. Without a word, Charlie put a hand under his elbow and helped him up, swinging the door shut behind him. They made it up the stairs to the front door of the flat, where Rory fumbled with the keys, his strength obviously at an end. Charlie pushed him gently into the living room and guided him into the armchair, where he sank into the cushions with a sigh of relief. 

Charlie got a glass of water and some painkillers from the kitchen and handed them to Rory, who grimaced but took them without a protest. Charlie filled the empty glass with whisky and was pleased to see a little more animation on Rory's face as he took the glass and drained half the contents in one swallow. 

"Thanks," he said, and Charlie nearly jumped. It was the first word that either of them had said since they'd left the office. 

"You needed it," he said. "I'll just put the car away and then make us some tea." 

Neither task took him very long, and he was back in the living room a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of tea. He saw with relief that Rory was already looking a little better - the lines weren't quite so deep and his face had a bit more colour to it. Their fingers touched as Charlie handed over the mug, and he felt a slight electric tingle. He told himself it was just static from the carpet. 

"So, how did the day go?" he asked. 

Rory made a minuscule shrug. "Too much to catch up on." 

"Yeah, I figured you'd be busy. You look knackered." 

Rory only grunted, but Charlie was learning to tell the difference between Rory disagreeing and not wanting to show it, and Rory conceding and not wanting to show it. This seemed to be more the latter... and he certainly hadn't been sworn at for asking, which was a bonus. 

"So, any thoughts on dinner?" 

Rory gave a small shake of his head, and Charlie went through to the kitchen to see what was available. 

~~~~~ 

Whether it was just fatigue or a real appreciation of his cooking, Charlie wasn't sure, but Rory was happy to eat the cold meat left over from the roast beef the day before, with mashed potatoes and peas. They ate in front of the TV, watching the news followed by Coronation Street (mainly because neither of them could be arsed to reach for the remote control, and besides, as Charlie said, you had to watch one episode every three months or so to keep up). 

When Charlie came back from loading the dishwasher, he found Rory fast asleep in his chair, his head tilted to one side, and snoring softly. Charlie stood there for a few seconds, just looking at Rory, debating in his head whether to wake him up and take him upstairs to bed, or let him sleep a little longer. He'd probably get a stiff neck, true, but he looked exhausted, and there wasn't much point in waking him up now and then again later for his tablets. After some deliberation, Charlie decided to let the man sleep another hour, and turned the TV volume down a little. There wasn't anything on that he felt like watching, so he picked out a novel from the bookcase, sat down on the sofa with his legs tucked up beside him, and started to read. 

About forty minutes later, Rory gave a start and woke himself up, lifting his head and looking around in a bleary, rather confused way. 

Charlie put his book down. "How do you feel?" he asked. 

Rory cleared his throat. "Crap." 

"Anything I can get you?" 

"Whisky." 

"Coming right up." He unfolded himself from the sofa and refilled Rory's glass. 

Rory was twisting his neck around, trying to stretch some of the kinks out of it. He didn't look very comfortable or happy, and glared at Charlie. "Are you going to offer me a neck rub?" he demanded. 

Charlie couldn't help smiling. "Would you like a neck rub, Mr McManus, boss, sir?" he asked, obsequiously. 

Rory pretended to scowl. "Don't push your luck. And yes." 

"Come on, then," Charlie reached out an arm and helped Rory get to his feet. 

The neck rub was somewhat hampered by the fact that Rory couldn't lie on his front yet, and certainly couldn't take the pressure of a proper massage. Instead, he sat on the side of the bed in his boxers while Charlie knelt behind him, running his hands over the knotted muscles, easing Rory's discomfort and bringing him to the brink of purring again. Charlie smiled to himself, glad that Rory couldn't see his face. He loved the little sounds that Rory made in his throat. He was sure that Rory didn't even realise he was doing it, or he'd have stopped himself - it was such an incongruous sound for someone with so tough a reputation, after all. No, Charlie had no intention of letting Rory know just how cute and adorable he could be when he let his guard down. 

He found that his hands were straying from Rory's neck, running over his shoulders, down his arms, over his chest. Rory was leaning back against him, his head lolling against Charlie's shoulder, his eyes closed. Charlie was practically embracing him, surrounding him with warmth and comfort and love. 

Fuck. He'd done it again. _I'm not in love,_ he recited to himself. _I'm not in love. I'm just here for the sex._

 _Oh... and the debt._

He eased back a little, but Rory just followed him, a heavy weight on his chest, and he realised that Rory had fallen asleep once more. He eased Rory down onto the sheets and carefully turned him so that his head was on the pillow. Rory stirred, but didn't wake, murmuring something indistinct before relaxing into sleep once more. 

Charlie drew the curtains, quietly, and looked at Rory for a couple of minutes before going back downstairs to tidy up. He contemplated the scattered newspapers and books with a sigh before picking them up and putting them in a neat pile on the edge of the coffee table. They'd have to go down to the recycling bins tomorrow for collection, except for the "Good Living" section which had a couple of interesting recipes in it that he might get Rory to try later on. 

He swore at himself. This was so fucking domestic. Liam was right: he was turning into a bloody housewife. Pathetic. 

He tried to ignore the small voice in the back of his head that whispered: _But you like domestic._

"No I don't," he muttered to himself. 

_Yes, you do. You want to cook for him, and give him back rubs, and go shopping with him._

"I like clubbing. And copping off with anyone I fancy. And not having commitments." 

_Not as much as you like Rory._

"Fuck off." 

_Suit yourself. But I'm right, you know. You'll admit it in the end._

He growled. That seemed to shut the voice up. 

Back upstairs once more, he cleaned his teeth, got undressed and slid into bed beside Rory, who remained fast asleep. He lay with his eyes open for a long time, looking at Rory's silhouette in the deepening gloom. He couldn't deny that he felt happy, looking after Rory. He'd known, even before the beating, the man had pushed himself hard, not always taking the breaks he could, and from the evidence Charlie had seen he didn't eat all that well either: too many carry-out meals, not enough home cooking. It was a wonder that he stayed fit. Charlie knew he exercised - he'd seen the improvised gym in the spare bedroom - but he had never seen Rory actually engage in anything more energetic that a brisk stroll. He wondered what it would be like to go out on a run with him sometime, come back hot and sweaty and pleasantly exhausted, then fall into bed and get really hot and sweaty and exhausted... 

_Get a fucking grip and remember this is only business,_ he told himself. _Seven more days to go and then it's back to Liam's place and freedom. That's what I want, isn't it? I'll have time to look for a job, I can borrow Liam's guitar and write a couple more songs, I can hang out with Liam and Ben in the evenings._

It was what he'd been looking forward to ever since the first of August. He had to keep telling himself that. He wanted to go home. 

He refused to allow himself to think anything else. 

  


_Tuesday 24 August_

Charlie felt slightly unreal the next morning, as he walked in the front door of the house he shared with Liam and Ben. He'd caught the bus out from the city, having been given dropped off in Portland Street and told to make himself scarce for a couple of days - Rory had suddenly said he just wanted some time on his own after Charlie's constant presence for the past ten days. Charlie had been astonished at his abrupt and casual dismissal, but there was nothing he could do, so he'd hitched his backpack on his shoulder and walked off without another word. He tried hard not to feel hurt, with only moderate success. 

_Two days of freedom,_ he told himself. _Two days of relaxing and being myself and not at his beck and call._ Well, that was one way of looking at it. 

He looked around. It was odd being back here after ten days away. He'd got used to Rory's bright modern flat, to rooms being neat and tidy, to picking up after himself and washing dishes and hanging clothes up when he took them off. 

Here… well, actually, now he came to think of it, the place didn't look too bad. Normally there were dirty dishes and empty food containers scattered around, dirty clothes on the furniture, and dust bunnies that were months if not years old in every conceivable nook and cranny. Today, however, the place was a lot tidier, and someone had obviously fixed the vacuum cleaner, because the carpet was dust-free (though it still bore mysterious stains they'd never been able to remove). 

There were a couple of plates on the table, but the table itself was clean. So was the kitchen, where the chrome on the sink shone between spots of rust. Liam and Ben had done a good job of cleaning up, and he supposed that Mr Ramachandra, the landlord, had been in for an inspection. He smirked to himself as he imagined Liam and Ben frantically wiping the benches and scrubbing the floor. Well, Ben would have been doing the scrubbing, since Liam was still in plaster, but still it was a good mental image. 

They'd even tidied Charlie's bedroom, folding up the clothes he'd left scattered around and placing them in a neat pile on the bed. His bed was made and all his junk (the stuff that Chris and Ken had left behind) was stacked neatly on top of the chest of drawers. He checked under the mattress for his magazines but found them unharmed, and relaxed a little - not that he'd been really anxious, since neither Ben nor Liam found them at all interesting, but a man's porn stash was sacred, after all. 

He wandered around the flat again, aimlessly. There really wasn't much to do. He looked in the fridge and found the usual dearth of food, but there was a bottle of milk that he drained - it didn't taste too bad. He pulled out his wallet and looked at the meagre contents, fully aware that he had more money than usual simply because he'd been living at Rory's expense for the last week and a half. He decided to walk to the grocer on the corner and get some bread and cheese - at least being home all day he'd have a good chance of eating it himself. 

Half an hour later, he was back and wandering around the flat with a thick sandwich in his hand, looking for something to do. He found the book he'd been reading, before Chris had called him so urgently, and picked it up, leafing idly through the pages. It couldn't hold his interest though - his thoughts kept going back to Rory, to the abrupt way he'd been dismissed this morning. It had hurt, after all he'd done for the man since he'd been injured, and he was annoyed by how much it had hurt. It wasn't as if they meant anything to each other - it was just a business arrangement, so why on earth he'd expected anything more, he didn't know. He should have been pleased that he had some time to himself, when he wasn't expected to provide services of either a sexual or a domestic nature, when he didn't have to try and guess what Rory was thinking. 

But inevitably his thoughts strayed to the times that Rory had treated him well - the night Rory had given him a hand job, that night in Birmingham when Rory had fucked him slowly and gently. And the other night - well, Charlie could have sworn that Rory had kissed him on the shoulder after he'd come - but common sense disagreed. It must have been his imagination making something out of an accidental and meaningless touch, that’s all. Certainly there was nothing in Rory's attitude to suggest that he was actually fond of Charlie. He half expected to be told to call him "Mr McManus" again, which he would find very difficult. 

He looked at his watch: it was barely midday. How had he coped for all those weeks between losing his job and starting the Agreement? He tried to remember how he'd occupied his days, but memory was hazy. He'd done a little song-writing, sure, but that certainly hadn't taken up all his time. He'd visited the job centre on Wednesdays and occasionally other days. He'd gone to the library a couple of times a week, he'd read a few books, he'd wandered around the streets, he'd gone to the cinema and the pub (until he'd exhausted his savings, anyway)... it all seemed so meaningless now. He hated being bored. He hated being useless. 

He wondered if Pat was home. He really wanted to do some work on the tune that was running around his head, and for that he needed a guitar or a piano. He picked up the phone and dialled the number, only to find that Pat at work until five. They arranged to meet at Pat's house later on, and then Charlie was thrown back on his own resources again. 

He took another wander around the house, looking into all the bedrooms. Liam's guitar was propped up against the wall, secure in its case, and Charlie felt once more the burning resentment that he'd lost his own bass while Liam – the cause of all this trouble – had managed to keep his guitar. 

Sod it. He wanted to work on his music, and Liam wasn't going to be back for hours, by which time Charlie would be on his way to Pat's. He picked up the guitar and took it into the lounge, snapping open the clasps and pulling the guitar out of his case. No need to plug it in – he wasn't after volume, just chords and melodies. He rummaged around in his backpack for a pencil, grabbed some paper and set to work, humming happily to himself as he started to pour out all the music that had been accumulating in his head. 

It must have been only a few minutes later that he heard the sound of someone at the door, and looked up in surprise. Liam came strolling into the room then stopped, obviously just as surprised to find him here as he was to see Liam. 

Charlie clenched his fists slightly as he prepared to be told off for using Liam's guitar without permission, but, oddly, it didn't happen. 

"Hey, bro'," said Liam, the cheeriness a little forced, "what brings you back here? McManus kick you out, did he?" 

"No, fuckwit. I killed him, left the body on the front steps and decided to sit here and wait for the police, what do you think?" He took a breath. It was all too easy to get into a spat with Liam, and he was on the back foot, so to speak, so he added, a bit more calmly, "He just said I can have tonight off." He cleared his throat. "Hope you don't mind me borrowing this. Just had to get a few chords sorted out." 

"No, that's fine," Liam reassured him. "Good to see you're writing, at least." He dropped his briefcase on the table (Charlie had never understood why he carried the damned thing when all it ever contained was a novel and occasionally his lunch) and threw his jacket down on the sofa before taking off his tie and undoing his collar. "Ah, that feels better." He walked through to his own room. 

"Why are you here anyway?" Charlie called after him. "It's only two o'clock." 

"Got an appointment at the hospital to have this looked at. If I'm lucky they’ll take the cast off today." 

"Hey, that's good. Is it still sore?" 

"No, it's fine." 

Liam reappeared, having changed his suit for a T-shirt and jeans. "You want to come along?" 

"No, thanks. I'll just carry on here." 

"OK. See you later." 

"See you." 

Liam picked up his wallet and left. Charlie turned his attention back to the guitar the moment his brother was out of the house and spent the rest of the afternoon strumming and scribbling. The tunes that had been running around his head seemed to leap off the page, and he'd filled several pages full of notes, chords and words by the time Liam returned, a little before four, sporting a pink elastic bandage in place of the cast that he'd had for four weeks. 

"Hey, the cast's off!" Charlie exclaimed. "How does it feel?" 

Liam smiled. "Fucking fantastic, mate. Still a little tender, but it isn't really sore. I can even put some weight on it." 

"So, do you think you'll be able to play guitar soon?" 

"Don't know. Haven't tried yet." 

Charlie held up the guitar he had been strumming and handed it over. Liam flexed his wrist experimentally, then slung the guitar into position and tried a few chords. His wrist was obviously stiff, and his fingers weren't as nimble as they had been, so he had a little difficulty in getting some of the chords and riffs out. Still, it was a creditable achievement for the first day, and the brothers shared a smiled of triumph as Liam came to the end of the song. 

"Not bad for the first day." 

"Not bad. Need practice though." 

"Well, you'll just have to tell the girls to keep away for a couple of weeks until you get up to speed again." 

Liam grinned. "They'll be heartbroken." 

"Sure they will." 

Liam looked at them with interest. "What's that? New song?" 

"Yeah. Nice one, I think, but it needs a lot of work. I really need a piano." 

"You could go around to Mum's." 

"Maybe. When they get back. Anyway, I've got to get moving. I'm going over to Pat's place this evening - he said he's been writing as well, so we want to go over some things together." 

"Fine." 

"Don't suppose I can take the guitar?" He was stuffing the papers into his backpack as he spoke. 

"No." 

"Didn't think so. Oh - you did a good job cleaning up. Did Ramachandra pull an inspection on you? 

Liam looked uncomfortable, but nodded weakly. 

"Bet you had fun trying to clean up and not ruin the cast." 

"Yeah," agreed Liam. "Ben had to do all the scrubbing. He wasn't happy." 

"I bet he wasn't. Looks good though. Anyway, I'm off. See you around." 

"See you." 

~~~~~ 

If he'd been hoping to be called back to Rory's that evening, he was disappointed. He had a good time at Pat's place though, both of them playing through the things that they'd written over the preceding few weeks, and suggesting improvements to each other's work. Pat told him that Sinjin had been writing too, so Charlie was optimistic that they'd have more than enough material for an album if and when they eventually got a recording contract. As an additional bonus, Pat's mum asked him to stay for tea. She was a good cook who never minded how much he ate, and he was happy to accept. 

As he curled up on the couch in the Gleasons' living room, after he and Pat had talked long into the night, he smiled to himself. It was good to be reminded that there was more to life than just Liam and Rory. 

  


_Wednesday 25th August_

Charlie was woken up by Mrs Gleason at far too early in the morning, and he struggled to get himself organised. As he yawned and stretched, he wondered what he could do for the rest of the day. He had to go into the city to sign on, but after that he wasn't sure. He ought to go back to Liam's to get some more clothes, but he wanted to go to his parents' place and use the piano to flesh out some harmonies on the songs he'd been writing. 

Pat gave him a lift into town in the van, since it wasn't too far out of his way, and Charlie went through the usual humiliating ritual of signing on, explaining how many jobs he'd applied for in the last fortnight. He had to be a bit creative there, as he hadn't actually applied for anything since the café cook position three weeks ago, but he managed to skate through and had his allowance approved for another fortnight. 

He looked at his watch but it was only eleven twenty: too early for lunch; too early to go to the office. He didn't fancy going back to the library and he had no money for the cinema or the pub, which narrowed his options considerably. After a few minutes' thought, he bought an off-peak day return ticket to Prestwich and headed for his parents' house. He knew no one would be there - they weren't due back from Ireland until Saturday - but it wouldn't hurt to visit and spend a few hours on the piano. If he hadn't had to sign on, he could have walked there from Pat's place and saved the bus fare, but... well, it was no use complaining. Wednesday was sign-on day and it meant the difference between humiliation and starvation. 

Once he'd let himself into the house and sat down in front of the piano, he lost all track of time. He drafted out the accompaniments to the songs he'd written, plus one of Pat's as well, and was making some last-minute adjustments to the harmonies when the phone rang. He fumbled for it in the back pocket, hoping that he'd be able to answer it before it rang off. 

"Charlie Pace," he said, a little breathlessly. 

"Mr McManus says for you to be at the office by six." It was Chris. 

Charlie glanced at the clock – it was already after four. Where had the day gone? He ran through the bus timetables in his head, but he had plenty of time, as long as the traffic wasn't too bad. 

"OK, I'll be there." He thumbed the phone off and looked at the piano, wondering if he had time to finish that last bit of accompaniment. He jotted down a couple of chords, then resolutely got up and packed the papers away. He couldn't risk getting lost in his work again, or he'd be late. 

He refused to let himself be pleased that he was going back to Rory's. 

_Thursday 26th August 5pm_

Charlie checked his watch as he walked briskly from the bus stop to the house. He didn't have much time to waste, and he was kicking himself for not remembering to pack clothes when he'd been there on Tuesday. He only had an hour until he had to be back at the office, and while Rory might be a bit more approachable now than a month ago, he still didn't tolerate being kept waiting. He hurried in through the front door and into his room. 

Thirty seconds later he was standing in the lounge, dialling Liam's number. The minute Liam answered he exploded. "What have you done with all my things?" he shouted. "They're all packed up in boxes! Have we been evicted? Why isn't anyone else's gear packed?" 

There was a long pause. "Ah, Charlie. I was meaning to talk to you about that." Liam sounded guilty. I've... I've let the room." 

"You've what?" Charlie couldn't believe his ears. Liam had let the room? 

Liam was immediately defensive. "Look, you haven't paid rent for three months. You haven't even slept here in over a week - " 

"Of course I haven't been here, you prick!" Charlie exploded. "I've been paying off the fucking debt you got us into!" 

"Charlie..." 

"Don't you fucking _Charlie_ me. I live here, and there's no way you can just throw me out." 

"Charlie..." 

"You said the rent didn't matter. You said when I lost my job that you could handle it, I needn't worry about it until I got another job. Remember that?" 

"Well, I didn't expect to handle it for nearly four months, did I? I thought you'd get a job in a couple of weeks." 

"I've been trying! It's not that easy, you know that." 

"You could have had the job at the furniture factory." 

"It was shiftwork, you moron! I wouldn't have been able to play in the band." His eyes narrowed. "Or is that what you want, Liam? You got your eye on another bass player, have you? Trying to ease me out? Is that it?" 

"No Charlie, I wouldn't do that. The band needs you. You're our best songwriter." 

"Just as fucking well." He paused to catch his breath. "Look, give me a few more weeks..." 

"I need the money now, bro'. The rent is fucking killing me. I have to get someone in who can contribute to the household expenditure." 

"I can contribute! Look, I'll go down the job centre and-" 

"Charlie, it's no use. The new guy is moving in on Sunday." 

"You fucking prick! You've done all this behind my back." He paused. "You knew. You knew on Tuesday when I saw you, didn't you?" 

Liam was silent. He couldn't deny it, and Charlie knew it. Instead, Liam ignored the accusation completely, saying, "You can kip on the sofa for a while. Until you get yourself sorted. That's the best I can do." 

"You best sucks, Liam, and you know it." He cut the connection, resisting the temptation to throw the phone at the wall, and stormed back into his room. He took a deep breath and surveyed the boxes. He couldn't take them all back to Rory's with him - not only was there too much to carry on the bus, but he only had another few days there at the most. Considering he had no idea what Rory's plans were for the long weekend he had better not make any assumptions. No, he'd have to leave the boxes here, which meant he had to dig through and get what he needed. And then he had to make a run for the bus. 

Muttering curses under his breath, he set to work, pulling stuff out and strewing it all over the bed. And if Liam had to clean up again for the new guy, well so be it. Charlie certainly wasn't going to lose any sleep over Liam's inconvenience. 

He wondered if he could get Rory to send Chris and Ken around to give Liam a taste of what they'd given those thugs in the alley a few weeks ago… 

_No._ He might be a loan shark's rent-boy but he wasn't going to sink to that level. It wouldn't change anything, anyway, and Liam simply wasn't worth it. 

He zipped up his backpack, threw a few more curses in Liam's general direction and stormed out. 


	15. Chapter 15

_Thursday 26 August 1999, 8pm_

Charlie sat on the sofa in the living room, lost in thought, while the TV burbled in the background. He was thinking about the future, and it wasn't a very pleasant prospect: in only a few days, he would have to return to Liam's place, only this time he wouldn't even have his own room. It just wasn't fair. 

He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. It wasn't his fault. Even if he had been free-loading off Liam ever since the job at the café had gone, it still wasn't his fault. Liam knew he'd been trying to get a job, but with there were too many people chasing too few jobs, and he didn't have much in the way of marketable skills – a year at Uni and four months as a short-order cook didn't make for an impressive resume. He hadn't even been able to do any interviews since Rory had been injured, and he'd got a pretty shirty look from the clerk the last time he'd signed on. He'd have to put a serious effort into finding a job once the month was over. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" 

Charlie started. He hadn't heard Rory come into the room. "Oh!" he floundered. "I-I’m just thinking about next week." 

"Oh." 

"When things... you know... get back to normal." He shifted around on the sofa and looked up at Rory, whose face was closed and neutral. He couldn't tell what Rory was thinking - nothing new there - but he wouldn't mind knowing if Rory was looking forward to the end of the month… or if he was looking for an excuse to prolong the Agreement. He wasn't going to ask to stay on, but if Rory asked him ... well, that was different, wasn't it? He'd stay if Rory asked him. It wasn't likely to happen, though. Rory wasn't going to ask someone like him to be his boyfriend. 

He put on a determined face and said, "Yeah, I'll have to look for a job... I'll put a bit of effort into it. I'll be busy with the band, too, of course. Pat and Sinjin have been writing, so we're going to have a few new songs to practise." 

"Is that so?" 

Rory didn't sound all that encouraging, but Charlie was used to explaining the wonders of DriveShaft to unbelievers, and pressed on. "Well, I really want to give it a go. We made a demo tape a few months ago, sent it to a few of the radio stations and record companies. Not much reaction yet, though. I think we ought to do a couple more songs, maybe a proper video or two, and send them out again. Got to keep plugging the name, make people recognise us." 

"You really think you can make it?" He sounded sceptical. 

"Yeah, I do." Charlie was confident - he had to be. DriveShaft was his life. "Yeah. We've got the songs. We've got the songwriters. That's what counts. You can always get musicians if you need them, but you have to have the songs." 

"You've got it all worked out." 

"Yeah, well, it's not like I haven't thought about it. I want DriveShaft to be a success. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure it happens." _Short of prostituting myself again, anyway,_ he added to himself. _I'll never do that again as long as I live. No matter how close to starving I might be._

Rory looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Let me have a couple of tapes. I may be able to send them to some people I know." 

"Really? That would be smashing." Charlie bounced up, surprised and pleased that Rory would even consider helping them out, after all that had happened. 

"Don't get your hopes up," Rory said in a quelling voice. "I just said I'd pass the tapes on. I'm not going to be your manager or publicist." 

"Well, no, I wouldn't expect you to. I mean - you've got your own business after all. But even if you're only handing out tapes it 's good. We really need the exposure. Once people listen, they'll realise we're good. We'll make it." 

"There are plenty that don't." 

"Yeah, well. DriveShaft's different. We'll make it. I know we will." 

He caught a smile teasing at the corners of Rory's mouth, and gave him a wry grin in return. "Yeah, I know. Everyone says that." He frowned. "Still need to get my hands on a bass, though." He hesitated, then took a deep breath and asked the question that had been consuming him for the last three weeks "I don't suppose you stashed my bass away somewhere?" 

Rory shook his head. "No," he said, and Charlie got the impression that he was sorry to have to say it. "I sold it the next day." 

Charlie scowled. He didn't mean to, but that bass had meant a lot to him. He'd bought it with his own money, hoarding cash from his pocket money and a summer's-worth of odd jobs, and losing it hurt more than anything else Rory had done to him. He'd never get it back - he knew that - but where was he going to find another one in time for the band's first gig? Much as he hated to admit it, he'd probably end up borrowing the money from Liam or his father. Decent guitars weren't cheap, and he'd need one that he was comfortable with. 

Oh well, it was a problem that could wait another week or so. Liam was only just out of plaster, and was attending physio twice a week to get some mobility back into his wrist. Their first non-cancelled gig was more than a fortnight away, and a lot could happen in that time. 

Something would turn up. 

  


_Friday 27 August_

Charlie was walking up the street to Liam's place... again. He wished that Rory had let him stay behind in the flat – it wouldn't have been the first time, after all - but he'd been chivvied out and dropped off at the office with no further instructions. Rory had just said he'd call him later, if he needed him. Hardly encouraging, especially since the holiday weekend was coming up, and Charlie had no idea if Rory intended to stay in Manchester or go away. He couldn't do anything until he knew Rory's plans, and it was driving him insane, not knowing where they'd be or what they'd be doing. 

He wondered if he'd have time to see his family – they were coming back from Ireland the next day and he wanted to go over and catch up with all the news. If he got a free meal out of it, then so much the better. On the other hand, he didn't want to face an inquisition on the subject of his absence from the last Sunday lunch before they'd left, the one he'd promised his mother he'd attend. He'd been looking after an injured Rory at the time, so he didn't have a particularly guilty conscience, but he didn't want any searching questions, either. 

He let himself into the house and dropped his backpack in the middle of the floor, then slumped down on the couch and put his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. 

Truth to tell, he was almost hoping that Rory would demand his attendance for the entire weekend. Not only would he have regular meals and a comfortable bed to sleep in (he hated the couch even as a couch, and it made a bloody awful bed), he'd be safe from Liam's taunts and his parents' enquiries. All he'd have to do in return would be to keep a hold on his temper and let the man fuck him as often as he wanted - and only the first of those would be difficult. 

He had to admit that Rory was a bloody good shag. He was strong and forceful; he made it plain that Charlie was to do what he was told, but he wasn't rough or abusive. If Charlie had been able to tell himself a month ago that he'd be viewing the first of September with something close to regret, he'd have called himself barking mad, but there it was. Rory was a good fuck, and Charlie wouldn't mind the prospect of that continuing, even if he hadn't fallen for - well, even without all that other stuff. There was nothing wrong in wanting good shagging to continue. After all, he was a normal red-blooded twenty-year-old man, and a shag was always a shag, whatever the circumstances. 

It had nothing to do with the colour of Rory's eyes. Nothing at all. And even less to do with the way his voice growled at Charlie when he was about to come, or the way he could bring Charlie to the brink of delirium with his cock. 

Without realising it, he'd leaned back and stuck one hand down his trousers, reaching for his dick, fisting it hard and fast. Oh fuck. Who was he trying to kid? He wanked himself off to the picture of Rory's green eyes, his beautiful hands, his hard thick cock, the feel of that cock in his hand, in his mouth, in his arse... 

He drew his hand out, looking at the gooey mess with distaste. This was getting to be a habit, tossing off to thoughts of Rory. It had to stop. 

He dragged himself off the couch and into the bathroom, where he washed his hands, drying them on Liam's bath towel. He looked at himself in the mirror - the untidy hair, the squashed nose, the crooked jaw. How could he ever kid himself that Rory would want someone like him around permanently? 

The phone rang, startling him out of his reverie, and he raced for the phone. "Charlie Pace." 

"Where are you?" 

"Home. Liam's place, I mean." 

"Be at the office by five. Bring whatever you need for the weekend." 

"Sure. Are we going anywhere?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Beach? Hiking? Skiing in New Zealand? What gear do I bring?" 

Rory snorted. "None of the above. Just normal gear." 

"OK." Charlie ran through the bus timetables in his head and got up off the sofa. He had plenty of time, but it didn't do to dawdle when Rory McManus gave an order. "Is there anything else?" 

"Just be there." Rory broke the connection, leaving Charlie mystified - as usual. 

~~~~~ 

The city was almost deserted when Charlie got there - well, it was five o'clock at the start of the August Bank Holiday Weekend, so he guessed that most people would have left early. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and entered the plainly-decorated waiting room. It was empty - neither Ken nor Chris in sight. He walked over to Rory's office and knocked on the open door. 

Rory was seated at his desk, looking at some papers. At Charlie's knock he gestured to the seat in front of the desk, then returned to his reading. 

Charlie sat down, setting his backpack on his knee. He was a little unnerved by Rory's silence, by Chris's absence, by the feeling of isolation in the building. He wondered if he'd done anything wrong in the last couple of days - and, if he had, what the punishment was likely to be. 

He started fiddling with his hands, picking at loose bits of skin, biting off a hangnail, then playing with the zip and some loose threads on the backpack. He kept half an eye on Rory, trying to gauge the man's mood. As usual, Rory was giving little away - he didn't seem hostile, but then he didn't seem particularly welcoming either. 

Patience didn't come easily to Charlie, but he was definitely learning. 

Finally, Rory closed the folder, set it to one side and rested his forearms on the desk. He looked Charlie in the eye and spoke a single word. "Strip." 

"What?" Charlie asked, then realised he'd been given an order. Rory was staring expectantly at him, waiting for him to comprehend and do what he'd been told - _as if I'm a half-trained dog,_ he grumbled to himself. He placed the backpack on the ground and stood up. Rory watched with barely-masked approval as Charlie took off his T-shirt, then shoes, socks and jeans. At Charlie's inquiring look he nodded, and Charlie took off his briefs, placing them on top of the pile of clothes, before standing rather nervously beside the chair. 

"Go over to the window." 

Charlie swallowed. There were some taller buildings across the street and he was fairly sure that his naked body would be clearly visible to anyone looking down - but Rory had given him an order, and he really didn't want to antagonise him at the start of what could be a very long weekend. 

He reached the window and looked over his shoulder - he wasn't sure whether he should turn or not. At Rory's gesture, he turned back to the window and looked out into the street. At least it was Friday afternoon and not a busy morning. As long as no one walked in... 

He cleared his throat. 

"What?" 

"The door," he ventured. "Shouldn't you lock the door?" 

Rory grinned - the familiar shark-grin that did nothing to reassure Charlie. "You let me worry about the door. You just concentrate on staying nice and quiet." 

Charlie swallowed and tried to fix his attention on the building opposite. He heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing, and a zip being undone. He knew what was coming next and put his hands on the narrow window-sill to brace himself. Rory stood just behind him and place a warm hand on his hip, pressing into his back. Charlie could feel that Rory was still fully-dressed, but his cock was free and rubbing against Charlie's buttocks. 

"Spread your legs," Rory growled into his ear. 

Charlie shivered and complied. He widened his stance and was rewarded by Rory's slick fingers between his buttocks, the fingertips reaching and teasing at his entrance. He wriggled his feet a little further apart to give Rory more room and heard a quiet chuckle. 

"You can't wait for this, can you? Such a slut for my cock, Charlie Pace, such a fucking gorgeous slut." 

He tried vainly not to moan. The soft burr in his ear was doing as much to get him hard as the hand between his legs. Even the words... he'd never thought that the word slut could be so erotic. 

Rory's other hand reached around for his cock, and he let out another low moan as he was gripped and pulled. His head dropped back and he opened himself up completely. He trusted Rory - heaven only knew why - but he knew that this would be good for both of them. 

"Bend over," was the next order he was given, and Charlie didn't even hesitate. He leaned forward and took his weight on his hands, hoping that the window would hold out, hoping that there was no one watching him. 

He felt Rory spreading his cheeks and them the firm, blunt head of his cock pushing in. Charlie took a couple of slow, deep breaths, forcing his muscles to relax and accommodate the intrusion. He tried to lean forward a little more, but the window stopped him, so he pushed back with his hips, which had the combined effect of pulling Rory's cock more deeply inside him and changing the angle. He groaned as his prostate was brushed, then again as Rory pulled back. 

"Yeah, just there," he groaned, hoping that Rory would take the hint and keep thrusting at that angle. 

"Quiet," Rory admonished him, but he kept on moving just as Charlie wanted, and Charlie spent the next few minutes trying to choke back more groans and exclamations as Rory's thrusting grew more and more powerful. He could feel Rory's hands gripping his hips, tightly, and knew that he'd be wearing the bruises for weeks. 

He felt his climax building up inside him. He pushed himself back from the window with one hand and grabbed at his cock with the other. He heard Rory's growl, but was beyond caring as he shuddered and came, his semen splattering all over the window. 

Rory thrust several more times and then came himself, a guttural sigh being the only vocal sound he made. He arched back and then fell forward, resting his forehead against Charlie's back. 

They stood almost motionless for nearly a minute, both of them out of breath, neither of them speaking. Charlie didn't want to move; he didn't want Rory to move. The thought of Rory resting against his body like that made his insides squirm in very peculiar ways. He wanted to turn around and take Rory in his arms, to hold him and kiss him and murmur things into his ear. 

He couldn't, of course. He couldn't ever let Rory know that he'd fallen in love. 

~~~~~ 

Half an hour later, the car pulled into Rory's set of flats. Charlie got out of the car and waited until Rory had locked it before turning and heading for the main entrance. 

"So, are there any big plans for the weekend, or are we just going to fuck like bunnies?" he asked. 

Rory looked taken aback at Charlie's bluntness. "I haven't decided yet," he answered as he keyed open the door. 

They walked up to the flat in silence. Charlie risked a sideways glance: Rory had tidied up after their little office adventure, but he still looked warm and slightly dishevelled. In fact, he looked properly shaggable, and Charlie almost ached with the desire to fuck him, to show him how good it could be. He knew that the chance of that happening – ever - was close to zero. Still, it would be wonderful fantasy material: Rory lying on the bed, looking up at Charlie as he was entered, feeling Charlie's climax inside him, holding him close as they cooled down... Charlie stumbled on the stairs and took a deep breath as he tried to reign in his treacherous imagination. Fuck it, he was stirring again, and he'd already come twice that afternoon. 

Rory opened the front door and they went into the kitchen, where Rory grabbed a couple of cans of beer from the fridge and handed one to Charlie. They drank in silent appreciation. Charlie pulled out one of the chairs and was about to sit down when Rory beckoned him through to the living room. 

He followed Rory and watched him sink down into one of the deep armchairs. Charlie toed off his trainers and sat on the sofa, pulling his legs up beside him. He sipped his beer and waited. That was probably the worst part about being with Rory – he couldn't just do what he wanted. He had to wait until Rory decided what they were going to do. 

At least this evening didn't look like it was going to be a frantic race to the coast or the continent. Charlie could remember when he was little, when the family had often gone away for long weekends - he'd never got used to the frustration of holiday traffic, sitting in traffic jams a mile long, sweltering in the sun or shivering in the rain, all the children squashed in together. Then Kevin had been born, and Bank Holiday weekends had become stay-at-home affairs, or they'd travelled by bus, or by train. The seaside had been nice - he remembered them going to Blackpool once - but it had got too expensive, with the five of them, and his Mum had said they'd have to be content with the school or church outings. They hadn't been nearly as much fun. 

He looked over at Rory, who was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed and his beer can tilted over at a precarious angle. The can was actually slipping out of Rory's grasp, and Charlie made a dive for it as it started to fall. 

The sudden movement startled Rory awake - he blinked a few times and stretched. 

Charlie set the can down on the coffee table and stood up. He held his hand out to Rory and said "Come on. You need to go to bed or go for a walk." 

Rory closed his eyes again. "Comfy here." 

"Not for long, not if you fall asleep like that. And I haven't nursed you for the last two weeks to have all my hard work undone by an armchair." He smiled, hoping that Rory would take his mock-admonishment the right way and not lose his temper. 

"Don't push your luck, kid," Rory grunted, but he did straighten up and run a hand over his face. 

Charlie extended his hand again. "Come on - come out for a walk. It's a glorious evening, and the weather'll probably turn cold tomorrow, so we might as well get out while we can." 

Grumbling - more for form's sake that because of any real resentment, it appeared - Rory allowed himself to be cajoled into changing his work clothes for track pants and trainers, and then they set off on a walk. Charlie was careful not to set the pace too hard, as Rory's ribs were still not fully healed, and they made a leisurely circuit of the estate without encountering any problem more serious than a loose shoelace. 

The sun was setting as they returned to the flat, and the deep, golden-red glow gave a warmth to Rory's features that made him look like a teenager. Charlie allowed himself a brief, appreciative look at the man as he keyed the main entrance lock. The way his hair grew on the nape of his neck, the curve of his ear, the hint of stubble on his cheek - these were all beautiful to Charlie, and he stored up the memories so that he could recall them in the empty weeks to come. 

  


_Saturday 28 August 9:15 am_

Charlie looked at Rory in astonishment. "You're not seriously proposing to go into the office, are you? It's a long weekend!" 

Rory looked at him disapprovingly. "I've missed enough already. I've got some contracts to go through." He stirred some more sugar into his tea and took a sip. His expression softened. "It won't be for long, though. And you can stay here if you want." 

Charlie snorted. "Aren't you afraid I'll run off with the silver?" 

Rory raised an eyebrow. "Are you that stupid?" 

Charlie flushed. "Well, no. I was just trying to make a joke." 

"I don't do jokes." 

"I've noticed." 

There was an awkward pause, then Charlie continued, "Well, if we're going to stay here all weekend, I might do some cooking. What do you fancy?" 

"I don't know. Surprise me." 

Charlie gave a sardonic laugh. "No, thanks. You don't do surprises very well either." 

Rory had to smile at that. "True," he admitted. "All right… seafood, then. I fancy a bit of lobster or crab. Think you're up to it?" 

Charlie regarded him with interest. So Rory wanted to challenge him, did he? "Hot or cold?" 

"Hot." 

"OK. Lobster with salad." 

"And pudding." 

Charlie snorted with amusement. "I'll see what I can find." 

Rory smiled happily at him and Charlie's heart gave a lurch. Dammit! It just wasn't fair that Rory could do that to him without even trying. He drained his coffee to hide his confusion and choked as half of it spilled over and down onto his shirt. At least it was a T-shirt, he told himself, as he got up and grabbed a cloth from the bench, and not one of the button-down shirts Rory had bought him. 

Rory laughed at him, but not unkindly, then drained his own cup and stood up. He took out his wallet and dropped a few notes on the table, saying "You get whatever you need for the meal. I should be back by five." 

Charlie threw the cloth in the general direction of the washing machine and nodded. "I'll see what I can get. I don't know what's going to be available." 

"No matter. I'm sure it'll be good." 

~~~~~ 

Charlie was at the sink, washing the lettuce, when he heard the sound of Rory's key in the lock and smiled. He hoped that Rory would like what he'd done with the money - all fifty pounds of it. It was a week's dole money and more, but it would be a great meal, and he'd even been able to buy meat for the next day as well. 

Rory stepped into the kitchen, carrying a bottle of wine that he placed in the fridge. At Charlie's curious expression he said, "Well, you're making a special effort on the food. Seemed like a good idea to get some wine." 

"It'll be quite the celebration," laughed Charlie. "What's the occasion?" 

Rory tensed up and glared at him. "What do you mean?" 

Charlie was flummoxed. It had only been a light-hearted remark; he hadn't expected Rory to react so violently. "I didn't mean anything!" he protested, automatically. "It's just… well, lobster's a bit special, you know, and then you go and bring in a bottle of wine. It's like we're having a party or something." 

Rory appeared to be slightly mollified, but said, "Well, it's not a party," in a quelling voice, "and don't go jumping to conclusions." He turned and left the room. 

Charlie heard him going up the stairs, the footsteps sounding heavy with resentment, and wondered what the matter was. 

Half an hour later Rory was back down in the kitchen, having had a shower and changed into a T-shirt and shorts, his temper much restored. He leaned over Charlie's shoulder to see what he was doing, and pinched a bit of capsicum from the salad Charlie was making. 

"Hey! None of that. You'll spoil your appetite." 

"Fat chance! I'm starving." 

Charlie looked at him, concerned. "Didn't you have any lunch?" he asked. 

Rory shook his head and took a wedge of tomato from the bowl. "Forgot. Too busy." 

Charlie actually got as far as opening his mouth to say he should have made Rory a sandwich to take with him before he realised what he was doing. He clenched his teeth shut and tried to control himself. _I have to stop doing this,_ he told himself. _I am not going to turn into a fucking housewife. Absolutely not._

Rory backed away slowly, and Charlie looked at him in surprise. He followed Rory's gaze to the sharp knife he held in his hand, the knuckles white with the pressure he'd exerted in the effort to get his thoughts back under control. He had to admit, it did look a bit suspicious. He relaxed his grip and put the knife down slowly and calmly. "Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean to scare you." 

"Does someone missing lunch always send you into a murderous rage?" Rory asked with wry amusement. 

Charlie laughed. "No. Not finishing what's on your plate does, though.' 

"Not much of a risk with your cooking, lad. I think I'm safe." So saying, he grabbed a stick of celery and turned away to the fridge, reaching in for the jug of ice water. 

Charlie felt himself reddening at the compliment which Rory had uttered so casually. He picked up the knife again and bent his head, concentrating on the celery he was cutting. 

_Sod it. I make a bloody good housewife._

~~~~~ 

The meal was perfect: a beautiful lobster, in a Malaysian black pepper sauce (the recipe had been in last Sunday's paper, but Charlie was fairly sure that Rory hadn't seen it, since he never read the "Good Living" section) with a green salad and fresh crusty bread, and the bottle of wine. Rory's appetite was certainly not impaired by the pieces he'd stolen before dinner, and he consumed over half the lobster, licking the juices off his fingers with an enthusiasm that both gratified and disturbed Charlie, who was led into fevered imaginings of what Rory's tongue might do to him... one day... 

Rory belched, long and loud, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile on his face. "That was good, lad." He patted his stomach and sighed. "I don’t think I could eat another thing." 

Charlie beamed. "That's a pity," he said, teasingly, "as there's more to come. Couldn't forget about that sweet tooth of yours." 

"Pudding?" asked Rory, hopefully. 

Charlie chuckled. "Not exactly." He got up and went to the freezer, pulling out a white box, which he opened and showed to Rory. Inside was an ice-cream cake, white with red accents. "Vanilla sponge with layers of raspberry ripple ice-cream. And fresh raspberries to go with it. Couldn't resist." 

"Oh, fantastic, I love raspberries," breathed Rory, gazing on the confection with an expression that bordered on adoration. He reached in with a finger, but Charlie whipped the box away. 

"Oy! No sticking fishy fingers in the cake. You go and wash your hands and I'll serve it out." 

Rory, surprisingly, obeyed him while Charlie took a knife and a spatula and served up two large helpings of dessert. 

Ten minutes later they were both leaning back in their chairs. "Now I really can't eat another thing," groaned Rory. 

"Not even a teeny-weeny after-dinner mint? 

Rory shook his head. "I think I'll go and sit down before I explode." He wandered through to the living room, surreptitiously pulling on the waistband of his shorts. 

Charlie put the remainder of the cake in the freezer and loaded the dishwasher. He thought about putting the kettle on for tea, but decided that they could wait for half an hour or so. 

They sat in the living room and watched a video while their meals settled – it was Rory's choice, of course, but he picked "Hard Boiled", which Charlie didn't mind seeing again, though he had to disagree with Rory on the relative merits of John Woo and Tsui Hark. They watched avidly as Chow Yun-Fat and Tony Leung systematically destroyed a hospital, cheering them on as the body count climbed into three figures. 

Charlie got up as the credits started to roll, and reappeared with two steaming mugs of tea. "Do you want to watch another film?" he asked. 

Rory shook his head. "No, I'll just drink my tea and then we'll go up to bed." 

Charlie nodded. He found himself quite looking forward to it - Rory in a good mood made for good sex, and he wanted to make the most of the few opportunities they had left. Every night brought them closer to the end of the month, and he had a desperate need to remember every hour, every minute, every good moment from now until Wednesday. 

Half an hour later, he found himself bent over the sink in the bathroom, watching the unbelievably hot image of Rory fucking him slowly from behind. He tried hard not to beg and plead as Rory pushed him to the brink of oblivion, and kept his eyes open for as long as he could, looking at himself, looking at Rory. _Remember this,_ he told himself. _Remember this night._


	16. Chapter 16

_Sunday 29 August 1999 8:15 am_

For the second time, Charlie woke up to find Rory McManus wrapped around him like a blanket. It was comfortable and warm and, like the last time, Charlie wondered what Rory would do if he woke up and found himself in this position. 

This morning, however, Charlie was less worried about Rory's possible reactions - which weren't likely to be violent, after all - and more concerned with lying absolutely still and just enjoying the feel of Rory's face against his shoulder. Rory was warm and smooth and smelled sexy and sweaty and wonderful. Charlie would be quite happy to lie there all day as long as his bladder held out. 

Rory stirred, and Charlie twisted his neck, trying to look into Rory's face. He brushed his lips against the domed forehead as he moved. _It's not a kiss,_ he told himself, _it's just an accidental touch._ Perfectly understandable. He found that a bit more difficult to believe after he did it for the third time, of course, but he told his conscience firmly that it didn't count if Rory was asleep. _Yeah, right._

He reached for his watch on the bedside table - a quarter past eight – and wondered if Rory would allow him to visit his parents for lunch. He knew his Mum would be expecting him, especially since he'd missed the last lunch before they left for Ireland. On the other hand... there'd be lots of Sunday lunches with his family after the first of September, but there'd be no more Rory, ever again, so really he ought to make the most of every second they were together for the next few days. There was a small roast in the fridge, after all, which he could cook with some potatoes and vegetables, or there was salad left over from yesterday evening, and the remainder of the ice-cream cake... Yes, he'd see what Rory wanted to do today, he'd offer to cook lunch, and with any luck it would be another fantastic day. The family could wait. 

His arm tightened around Rory's shoulders and he smiled slightly as he let himself return to the daydream of what life might have been like if they'd met in a club and done the boyfriend thing. He'd admitted it to himself at last... he wanted to be Rory's boyfriend. He wanted more than just the shagging. He wanted to go to sleep and wake up with him, to laugh and cry and fight and make up with him. He wanted to plan holidays and birthdays and Christmas with him. He wanted to go to gigs with him, play for him, come home with him and shag him senseless. He wanted to be able to take him home, to meet his family - he'd have to come out to them, but it would be all right, they'd be OK with it. 

_And the moon's made of green cheese,_ he muttered, as he hauled himself back to reality. Romantic fantasy it might be, but coming out to his family was going to be hard enough in itself, without presenting them with someone like Rory for a boyfriend - Scottish, protestant and a criminal. Oh yes, that was going to go down really well with Mum and Dad. Might as well disown himself now and be done with it. 

He must have tightened his arm a bit too much, because Rory snuffled a bit and woke up. Charlie immediately closed his eyes, cursing himself for his cowardice, but he really didn't want to see Rory's reaction to waking up so intimately entwined with his rent-boy. 

To his surprise, Rory didn't immediately fling himself over to the other side of the bed, nor did he swear or try to wake Charlie up. Instead, he went very still for several seconds, then slowly sat up. Charlie just knew that Rory was watching him and kept his eyes closed and his body relaxed - well, all the parts of his body that he could control. The morning erection he was sporting was, he hoped, sufficiently familiar that Rory would ignore it, even if it was moving a little in reaction to Charlie's nervousness. 

He barely suppressed a twitch as Rory's hand ran gently up his stomach and chest, then to his face. He felt fingertips exploring his features - his eyes, his nose, his lips. He wanted to open his mouth and take Rory's fingers in, but that would give himself away. Instead he gave a realistic imitation of someone stirring in their sleep and let his head fall to the side. 

Rory let his hand trail downwards, back over his chest and abdomen, until - oh, God, what was he going to do? - he hand closed around Charlie's cock. 

He couldn't help it. He gasped and opened his eyes. 

"Thought that would wake you up," said Rory, with a smug expression, and started to squeeze and pull. 

Charlie felt as if he were falling from a plane. Everything seemed to be spinning around him, the solid foundations of the world had disappeared and all he was left with was the tight, hot touch of Rory's hand around his prick. 

He groaned, and Rory smiled down at him, his teeth looking pointed and sharp from this angle. 

"You look good like that," he said, his voice soft and husky. "So open, so ready." His hand moved a little faster, and then he paused to run a finger over the glans, looking at the drop of fluid that stuck to his fingertip. He touched the finger to his tongue, tasting Charlie, and smiled that beautiful, dangerous smile again. "You don't taste so bad. Perhaps I should taste you properly, eh? You'd like that. You’d like me to go down on you, wouldn't you?" 

Charlie, to his horror, found himself begging and pleading. "Yes, please, just - with your mouth - yes -" It was more than he'd ever imagined possible, he couldn't believe that Rory was offering to suck him off, it was turning him on like nothing ever before. He thrust into Rory's fist, getting close, so close... 

But Rory let go, and pulled his hand away. "Not yet, lad. My turn now." 

_Fuck!_ Charlie gasped and just managed to stop himself from cursing out loud. He watched as Rory took Charlie's left hand and placed it on his own gleaming, rigid length. As the fog cleared from his brain, Charlie had to admit that it felt lovely - the flesh so hard, the skin so soft, a little moisture already at the tip - even if it wasn't quite as good as having Rory's hand around his own shaft. But he was here to please Rory - he had to remember that. Rory was what counted, and any pleasure of his own was purely a bonus. 

He was both surprised and pleased, then, when he felt Rory's hand return to his cock. He looked up, but Rory's gaze was firmly fixed on Charlie's groin. Probably for the best - it would be far too embarrassing for them to look into each other's eyes. They had to move together at this angle, but it was easy to look past each other - at the wall, at the furniture, at anything – and pretend that this was something normal, something that happened every morning. Charlie wished it were true. 

They moved faster and faster, their breath becoming irregular, harsh, with grunts and soft, involuntary cries as they got closer to climax. 

Charlie felt it starting, gathering momentum and then pouring out of him. He shuddered, spilling over Rory's hand and leg. He wanted to slump down and relax, but he didn't have time - Rory hadn't come yet. He reached for Rory's cock and started a firm, rapid, movement that soon saw Rory arch back and shoot hard, spraying all over Charlie's chest and stomach. 

Rory rolled over onto his back, his eyes still closed, and Charlie took a moment to regain his breath before going to the bathroom to clean up. He brought back a wet face flannel and wiped Rory's cock and his hand, which still held his own release. Rory murmured something that might have been a thank you, and dozed off. 

Charlie took it as a good omen for the day, and started thinking about breakfast. 

  


_Tuesday 31 August_

The golden evening light was fading as they went up the stairs. Charlie followed Rory into the bedroom and pulled off his T-shirt. 

"So, how are you going to fuck me tonight?" he asked. 

Rory paused to consider that a moment, then a slow, sly smile spread over his face. "I'm not," he answered. 

Charlie was confused. Not fuck him? But ... no, surely not? Rory couldn't really want him to... 

"And don't get too excited. You're not fucking me, either." 

Charlie was both disappointed and relieved at that, but it still didn’t tell him what Rory had planned. "So what are we doing?" 

"You are going to stand over there, by the door, and I am going to get comfortable on the bed and then I'm going to watch you wank yourself." 

"What?" 

"Wank, Charlie. You know, when you bring yourself off with your hand?" 

"You want me to...?" 

"I want to watch you do it." 

And oh, that was the hottest thing Charlie had heard in ages. The tone in Rory's voice and the kinky prospect of being watched was getting him hard in his trousers. He wondered if Rory would want to fuck him afterwards, or if he'd prefer to be sucked off - but it didn't really matter. He was going to enjoy it either way. 

Charlie undid his trousers, slowly, thinking of how he was going to do this. It wasn't as if he didn't know what to do. And it wouldn't even be the first time he'd done it in front of an audience. He'd done it for Richard a couple of times, and one weekend, years ago, he'd had a contest with some school mates over who could shoot highest on the brick wall around the back of the school gym. This, though, was a little different. There was always the delicious little thrill he got when Rory told him to do something - it twisted his gut and made everything more intense. 

He pulled off his trainers and socks, then took off his trousers and briefs, throwing them on the bed. He leaned back against the door jamb, suppressing a shiver at the cold metal's impact on his skin. He locked eyes with Rory and put a hand on his cock. 

Three slow pulls and he was hard, two more and he was really hard, the head emerging from its shroud of soft skin and gleaming with moisture. He touched the tip with his fingers and smeared the pre-come around the head, licking his lips at the sensation. 

He could almost feeling Rory's gaze covering him like a blanket, making his skin tingle and his nerves buzz. He drew his hand up and down the shaft, just the way he liked it, remembering the way Rory had done it yesterday. 

That had been good, touching each other like that. It had felt odd, yes, but somehow nice too. He wanted that again - wanted them to touch each other, gently, firmly, painfully tight, anything that would bring them off together. He'd do it again, anytime Rory wanted it, anytime Rory wanted him. 

He brought his other hand down to cradle his balls, brushing his fingertips over the soft wrinkled skin, reaching behind to stroke the sensitive patch there. He wished it was Rory touching him there, but this was good enough, and he could see that Rory was enjoying the show. He stroked a little faster, tightening his fingers at the head of his cock and adding a little twist. 

All too soon he was spurting into his hand, and he looked over at Rory, who was sitting with flushed cheeks and a glitter in his eyes that made Charlie wish he was fifteen again and ready to go as soon as he'd caught his breath. For now, he walked into the bathroom and washed his hands before returning to the bedroom and crawling onto the bed. 

He gripped Rory's ankles and pulled the man down the bed, spreading his legs wide. Rory's cock was thick and hard, and he ran a slow tongue stroke from base to tip. Rory gave a groan and let his head fall back onto the pillow as Charlie licked another wet stripe up the shaft, following it with a swirl of his tongue around the head. 

Charlie ran his hands up the insides of the pale thighs, slowing down as he approached the groin. He dipped one finger down to brush the perineum - he'd seen Rory's reaction when Charlie had done it to himself, and he wanted to see what Rory would do when it was his own skin that was touched. The outcome was gratifying - Rory bucked and panted, and more fluid appeared at the tip. Charlie let his finger draw small circles on the skin, gradually moving further and further back. He wasn't sure how Rory would react when he touched - ah, there - but it seemed that he'd hypnotised the man with his skill, and Rory made no protest as Charlie ran his fingertip over the puckered skin. Should he try to insert a finger? He knew how good it felt, but would Rory take it as a threat? On balance, he decided not to push it further and withdrew his finger back over the perineum. 

He put his mouth to work again, licking the fresh fluid away, running the tip of his tongue in random swirls over the head, until Rory's hand pushed his head down. He took the hint, opened his mouth and swallowed as much of the cock as he could, noting the musky, bittersweet taste of precome on his tongue. He started out slowly, just moving quietly up and down, then increased his speed, adding a bit of tongue-work and moving his other hand around the base. His right hand was still moving over Rory's balls and perineum, and all too soon he felt Rory jerk and his mouth was filled with thick pungent fluid. 

He swallowed, convulsively, then relaxed and withdrew, but gave the softening cock one last pull with a tight fist, smiling when Rory jerked as he crossed the divide between pleasure and pain. 

Rory lay there, motionless, with his eyes closed. Sleeping already, or just taking a momentary rest? – Charlie didn't know and he was too exhausted to care. He crawled up the bed and lay down beside the supine form, tugging at his pillow until it was comfortable. 

He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to waste a minute of their last night. He wanted to lie awake and watch Rory sleep, watch him breathe, watch him dream... 

~~~~~ 

He woke in the early hours of the morning, when Rory spread his legs, trailing an already-slick finger between his buttocks. He sighed appreciatively, and let his knees fall out, opening himself up. Rory smiled and teased him some more before inserting two fingers, his hand reaching deep inside. Charlie couldn't suppress a shiver, and murmured "That's good." Rory answered by probing even deeper, starting a rhythmic stroking of his prostate that had Charlie squirming and panting very soon. 

"Fuck me," he begged, wanting desperately to feel Rory's cock inside him, feel Rory's body draped over his own, feel Rory's strong arms around him. "Please, Rory, fuck me. I need it." 

"Aye, lad, I will," answered Rory at last. 

Charlie caught his breath as he watched Rory put a condom on and apply more lubricant. He almost told him to take it off, so they could shag bareback, but he couldn't risk it, not even tonight. He looked at Rory and waited for his next move, spreading his legs wide and running a hand up and down his inner thigh. 

"Over you go, lad," ordered Rory. 

Charlie frowned. "Can't I stay like this?" 

"No. Turn over." 

Charlie complied, grumbling to himself. Why didn't Rory want to look at him? This was almost certainly the last time they'd shag, and Charlie wanted to see Rory's face when he came. Rory obviously didn't feel the same way. _Probably wants to imagine I'm someone else. Just a rent-boy, remember?_

But when Charlie felt warm smooth hands on his skin once more, he obligingly lifted his arse, spreading his knees and putting his weight on his elbows. Rory took his time, running his hands over Charlie's legs, hips, waist and stomach. It was as if he wanted to learn Charlie, wanted to remember every contour, every curve, every plane of his body. No, whatever Rory was thinking, Charlie knew that he wasn't imagining himself to be with anyone else – he'd swear to that. 

Charlie held still for as long as he could, but when Rory's hand reached around to cup his balls he couldn't help but move and groan. 

"Fuck me," he begged again. "Fuck me now." 

He heard a soft chuckle behind him. He felt two hands spreading his buttocks and the blunt head of Rory's cock sliding into him. He felt the familiar stretch as he was filled, revelling in it, trying to register every movement, every tiny sensation. 

He heard Rory exhale as his cock was fully ensheathed, and felt him drop forward to rest on Charlie's back. They stayed like that for a few seconds, and Charlie wondered what Rory was thinking. He noted the warmth of Rory's chest against his skin, the way that his arms enclosed him, the touch of the man's cheek and lips against his neck. Then Rory straightened up, pulled back, and started a slow, sensuous movement in and out of Charlie's body, driving him delirious. 

This was the slowest, most deliberate pace that he'd ever set, and it was clear that Rory wanted to prolong it as much as possible. He paused frequently, letting his hands run over Charlie's back and stomach, changing his angle, letting his cock scrape over Charlie's prostate, teasing him, taunting him, mastering him. 

Charlie's fists were gripping the sheets hard, and his mouth was wide open as he gasped for air. He tried to push forward, wanting his cock to rub on the sheets, but was hauled back up to his knees. He couldn't think clearly any more. All his world had shrunk to this room, this bed, this man who was showing him just how well he could take control, and Charlie loved it. He groaned, pleading wordlessly for release, but Rory ignored him and continued to fuck him into madness. 

Aeons later, when Charlie was sobbing in desperation, Rory pulled him back for the last time and started a frantic thrusting, one hand reaching around to take Charlie's cock and pump it brutally. Charlie almost screamed as he came, shooting hard into the sheets, jerking forward with each pulse. Rory came too, and they trembled and shuddered together. 

Intense as it was, his climax was over all too soon, and he sank, exhausted, onto the mattress, not even caring that he was lying right on the wet patch. As conscious thought returned, he had a vague feeling that he ought to do get up, to clean them both, but he just couldn't move - his limbs were leaden and his eyes were welded shut. He felt Rory moving out of his body and dropping to the bed beside him. 

His last thought before falling into sleep was that this was one of the best nights he'd ever had. 

  


_Wednesday 01 September 7:30 am_

Charlie felt cold when he woke. He’d got used to waking up with Rory close beside him (if not actually draped over him), and he couldn’t feel that warmth. He stretched his hand out, but encountered only bare sheets. Opening his eyes, he looked to the right, but Rory had obviously got up some time ago. Charlie concentrated, trying to hear where he might be, but there was nothing. 

He checked his watch: 7:40. Well, at least it was too early for Rory to have gone off to work and left Charlie behind. 

He sat up, slowly, feeling the tingling in his arse. Last night had been... well, indescribable. He couldn't remember the last time he'd come that hard, or fallen asleep straight away, for that matter. And he wasn't sure if he'd dreamed Rory cleaning him up, but he certainly wasn't as sticky as he'd expected to be, so maybe it had been real. 

He swivelled around and dropped his legs to the floor, then stretched his arms up high, feeling his muscles protest but ignoring them. 

“It lives,” came a sardonic voice from the door. 

Charlie jumped, then flushed. He hated being taken by surprise, and he hadn’t even heard Rory come up the stairs. 

Rory was leaning against the door jamb, his face set and hard, revealing nothing. “Better hurry up, lad. I want to leave by eight.” 

_Fuck!_ “You could have woken me earlier!” 

“I’m not your nanny,” was Rory’s reply. He stood there, watching, as Charlie scrambled up and walked, naked, around the bed to the en suite. Whether he enjoyed the view was impossible to tell. 

Charlie emptied his bladder and then dove into the shower – no time for a shave this morning – completing his ablutions as fast as possible. Twenty minutes wasn’t much time at all, and he still had to pack his clothes. Hurriedly drying himself, he grabbed the shirt he'd worn the day before, frowning at the creases and marks, but it couldn't be helped. He nearly fell over himself trying to get his socks on and his trousers zipped at the same time, and forced himself to sit down on the bed and take things a little more slowly. The last thing he wanted was to knock himself out. 

At five minutes to eight he looked at his bulging backpack and cursed. It was more than full already and he still hadn't retrieved the clothes from the laundry he'd done the day before. He'd have to ask Rory for a carrier bag. He was going to look a right wally walking home with all his worldly possessions in a couple of bags, but that couldn't be helped. 

He ran down the stairs, dropping the backpack by the front door, and pushed past Rory to get to the laundry basket. 

"Watch where you're going, boy" snarled Rory. 

"Fuck off, I don't have time for this, he replied, pawing through the basket of clothes, picking out a shirt, then some briefs, then another shirt. 

He was wrenched around by a firm grip on his shoulder and came face to face with an angry Rory, wearing his Loan Shark face. "Don't you speak to me like that." 

"I'll speak how I bloody well like. The month's up and I don’t owe you a thing any more." He shook off Rory's hand and returned to the pile of clothing. 

"It's not over yet, boy." 

"It is as far as I'm concerned." 

"Not until six o'clock tonight, it's not." 

Charlie looked up at that. "What? You're not serious?" 

"I am." 

Charlie thought back a month, to the day of the original agreement. He couldn't remember any specific time being mentioned. In fact he could have sworn that the agreement finished on 31st August, not 1st September, which meant that he should already be free to go. "I don't believe you," he said. 

He didn't even see Rory move. The next thing he knew he was pressed up against the wall, his face against the tiles, arms pulled up painfully behind him and Rory leaning in with all his weight. Fuck! 

"You're mine until six tonight. Got it?" The words were growled into his ear, and, heaven help him, going straight to his cock. 

He struggled, but Rory pulled his arm up higher, and the pain intensified. He was trapped, and he knew it. He managed a tiny nod and a "Yes," which came out as more of a squeak than a real word, but it wasn't easy to make any other sort of sound when he couldn't even breathe. 

The pressure eased, and he felt Rory standing back. His arms were released and he straightened up, rubbing his shoulder. When he turned around, Rory had moved over to the table and was calmly finishing the last of his mug of tea. He was looking at Charlie intently, but as usual Charlie had no idea what the man was thinking. 

Sod it. And Charlie hadn't even had a coffee this morning. 

He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could control his temper for ten more hours. He could shield his heart for ten more hours. It was only one more day. He felt his self-control reassert itself and his heartbeat slowed. He looked at Rory and spoke in a calm, pleasant voice. "In that case, do you have a carrier bag I could use? My backpack's full." 

Rory seemed mildly surprised by Charlie's abrupt change in attitude and subject, but nodded in the direction of the sink. "Aye, there's a pile in the bottom drawer over there." 

"Thanks." Charlie went over and grabbed the topmost bag. Ironically, it was from Debenham's - the same one he'd used to carry the clothes that Rory had bought him. Which reminded him... He took the two button down shirts and folded them neatly, placing them on top of the washing machine. "I'll get the other shirt and the trousers cleaned and I'll drop them off at the office next week." 

"What?" Rory was confused again. 

"The clothes. The stuff you bought me. I'll return them once they're clean." 

"Don't be so fucking daft. They're yours. Just don't tell anyone where you got them." 

Charlie snorted. "Fuck, no. All I want to do is forget about this entire month and everything that happened." It wasn't true, but it sounded good, and he was rewarded by the tightening of Rory's face and the ice in his voice as he replied, "Likewise." 

Well, that was that, then. 

Charlie placed the shirts, socks and briefs in the bag, and walked past Rory with a muttered "Excuse me." He went through to the living room, but a brief survey showed nothing of his apart from his shoes, kicked off and dropped beside the sofa last night. He sat down and pulled them on, taking his time over the laces as looked around the room. No, nothing to leave behind... even if he wanted to. 

He stood up and returned to the hall, picking up his backpack and the carrier bag. "Well, I'm ready," he said, cheerily, as if he were about to leave on holiday. "Let's go." 

He could have sworn that he saw a stricken look on Rory's face, just for a split second, but then the man closed up again, his face stern and looking much older than usual. 

"Aye, let's go," Rory echoed, and opened the door. 

They were silent in the car on the way in to the city. Rory kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road, while Charlie picked at his fingernails. He wondered, idly, if he ought to try painting them - black, maybe, or dark blue. Not red or pink - nothing girly. Black would be stylish. Maybe he could try matching nail polish and plectrum - a fashion statement. He wondered if anyone had done that before. Probably. 

All too soon they reached Rory's office, and the car snaked its way down to the car park. Charlie got out and waited for Rory to lock the car. Neither of them spoke, and Charlie followed Rory up the stairs as meekly as a choirboy. 

Once in the office, Charlie threw his bags onto one of the chairs. "So what to you want me to do?" 

"For now, sit down, shut up and let me work." 

Charlie gritted his teeth. Rory was going to milk every last penny's-worth of humiliation from him today, he just knew it. Perhaps he shouldn't have answered him back this morning. Still, he reminded himself, it was better this way - better to end it on a sour note than risk giving himself away. 

He sat down and closed his eyes. He wasn't even going to attempt the World's Most Boring Magazines, and he'd finished the book he was reading the day before. There was nothing to do but meditate, and Charlie, unfortunately, had never been particularly good at that. 

Chris came in about ten minutes later, and if he was surprised to find his boss and Charlie there already he hid it well. 

"Morning," Charlie greeted him. "He's in his office." 

Chris replied with a nod and walked calmly into Rory's office, closing the door behind him. Charlie could just make out the low buzz of their voices, but he hadn't a hope of hearing what they were saying. He wondered if they were talking about him. 

He looked at the faint cracks in the ceiling, mostly around the edges. It was obviously a good building - not too old, not too much settling. The proportions of the room weren't bad, it just needed a bit of brightening. He smiled when he remembered how frightened he'd been the first time he'd been here. That Charlie seemed to be so far away, so different from what he was now. 

His reverie was interrupted by Chris, who emerged from the inner office and sat down at his computer. He didn't speak, and Charlie wasn't game to try starting up a conversation. He glanced at the clock - twenty past nine. 

It was going to be a very long day. 

~~~~~ 

Twelve o'clock came and went without any reappearance of Rory from his office. Charlie had given up on reading, on talking to Chris (who didn't talk back) and had even given up thinking. For the last half hour he had been stretched out on the floor, his head pillowed on his bulging backpack, trying to convince himself that the floor was a perfectly reasonable and comfortable place to sleep. Unfortunately his back didn't believe him, and every few minutes he would twist around, trying to ease the pressure on his bones. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" It was Rory, who had come out from his office and was standing there, looking at Charlie. 

"Umm..." Charlie scrambled to his feet. "I was just resting." 

"Not in my office, you don't. Now sit down - on a chair - and keep quiet." 

Charlie complied, with an ill-grace. He was tired, and bored, and hungry, and feeling more resentful by the minute. It was nearly half past twelve and he wanted lunch. Unfortunately, with Rory in such a snit, he didn't dare ask if he could get something to eat in case he stirred up more trouble. 

He told himself that it was all for the best in the long run. The worse things went today, the easier it would be to let go, and the less chance there would be that Rory would find out Charlie's secret. He had to keep telling himself that it was better this way. 

He sat in silence, almost motionless, for another twenty minutes. Ken came in, carrying a briefcase and looking rather annoyed. He gave Charlie an odd look, part curiosity and part disgust, and went into the inner office, closing the door behind him. As before, Charlie could hear the low tone of voices, but no words. 

Ken came out after a further ten minutes and spoke bluntly to Chris. "He says we've to take it to the bank." 

Chris said nothing, but locked the computer and got up from the desk. The two big men went out into the corridor, leaving Charlie alone with Rory. 

He wondered what Ken had in the briefcase. Money? Guns? Drugs? It could be anything. He was still pondering when Rory appeared at the door. 

"Where's Chris?" 

Charlie shrugged. "He went out with Ken. I think Ken said something about the bank." 

"Oh, for Christ's sake, it's only a block away. He doesn't need his bloody hand held. Useless git." 

Charlie didn't know what to say. It sounded as if Rory didn't like Ken at all. So why did he keep him around? 

He was given no time to think on this new question, as Rory pulled a twenty-pound note from his pocket and held it out, saying "Go down the road and get us a couple of rolls. Ham, cheese and tomato, none of that fancy rubbish." 

"OK," Charlie got up from his seat and took the money. "May I...?" 

Rory nodded, brusquely. "Aye, get yourself something, too." 

"What about Ken and Chris?" 

"They'll fend for themselves." 

~~~~~ 

It was nearly half an hour later when Charlie got back. Neither Ken nor Chris had returned, so Charlie presumed they had taken advantage of the trip to the bank to have a break for themselves. 

He knocked on the inner door and waited until Rory looked up before proffering the roll and the change. Rory took the change first, dropping it into his pocket, and then reached for the roll. He gestured to the door and Charlie returned to the waiting room, and another hour or two of complete boredom. 

The phone rang a couple of times, but Rory picked up the calls from his office. Charlie sat and started looking at the cracks in the ceiling, staring at the lines until his mind made them into pictures - faces, animals, maps of imaginary countries. 

He was diverted from this pursuit when footsteps in the corridor heralded the return of Chris and Ken. Ken dropped the briefcase casually on the desk, before disappearing into the inner office, leaving Charlie to suppose that whatever it had held before lunch, it was probably empty now. 

The door closed and he heard Rory's voice berating them for taking so long. He couldn't help smiling as he pictured them both being told off by someone half their size. 

Chris came back out and sat at the computer, unperturbed and unreadable. Ken, on the other hand, was clearly annoyed, and sat down on the far side of the room, picking at his nails. 

Rory sent both men away a little after five thirty, telling them he'd lock up. Chris nodded at Charlie as he left; Ken gave him a venomous glance. Charlie waited. 

He didn't have to wait for long. A couple of minutes later, Rory strode over to the door and locked it, then walked back into his office, beckoning Charlie to follow. "Strip," he ordered. 

Charlie stared at him. "One last fuck before I go, is it?" He managed to sound disgusted rather than eager. "You just have to get your money's worth, don't you?" 

"Be thankful I wanted my money's-worth, as you call it," Rory snarled. "I could have broken your fingers instead – I've done it before, and for less money owing." 

Charlie had no difficulty in believing him. He reached down for his T-shirt, resigned to the inevitable, but was stalled by the sound of the phone ringing. Rory's face hardened and he stood still for a few seconds, as if debating whether or not to answer it. 

"You'd better answer it. It might be important." 

Rory grimaced but turned to answer it. "McManus and Son... Aye, Da, but I'm a bit busy..." He paused, then his whole body seemed to slump as he continued, "Aye, I can spare a moment." He sat down at the desk, tucking the phone under his ear and reaching for a pen. 

Charlie turned and looked out of the window. It was a little overcast, not nearly as pleasant as last Friday. Safe in the knowledge that Rory couldn't see his expression, he allowed himself a smile as he remembered being fucked against this window. That had been hot. He touched a finger to the glass, wondering if anyone had seen him, wondering if they'd been horrified or aroused. 

There was the sound of someone at the door – a slight rattling of the doorknob, then a quiet jangling as a key went into the lock and turned. Rory didn't appear to have heard it, so Charlie walked through to see who it was. He was expecting an office cleaner, but it turned out to be Ken, who looked as surprised to see Charlie as Charlie was to see Ken. 

There was only one reason that Ken would sneak back into the office after having been dismissed for the weekend, and Charlie realised it at once – he wanted to catch Rory in flagrante delicto. For all that Rory was a criminal and a complete tosser to boot, Charlie was absurdly glad that Ken had failed. The last thing Rory needed was another beating. 

"Forget something, did you?" he asked, smiling sweetly. "Mr McManus is just on the phone. I'm sure he won't be long." 

Ken scowled. He made a pretence of searching Chris's desk for something, then stalked out, his face as black as thunder. Charlie grinned. 

Rory was still on the phone, talking to his father a thick burr that Charlie could barely understand. Charlie stood in the doorway for a while, but Rory didn't even acknowledge his presence. He checked his watch: five to six. He wandered back to the outer office and looked at the wall clock, watching as the hands ticked closer to six. 

Finally, at one minute to six, he picked up his backpack and the carrier bag and walked quietly out of the door, taking care not to slam it behind him. 


	17. Chapter 17

_Friday 03 September 1999_

Charlie was standing outside Liam's house - he couldn't call it his house, not any more - when the familiar (and loathed) mustard-yellow Volvo pulled up. He could see Tess in the front seat, looking anxious but excited, while his mother appeared anxious and worried. 

Charlie jumped in the back with Bridget and buckled up as his mother pulled away from the kerb. 

"Thanks for picking me up," he said. 

"That's all right, dear." said his mother. "I'm just glad you can come along to say goodbye to your sister." 

Charlie smirked. "Oh, I'd never pass up an opportunity to say goodbye to Tess." 

"Charlie! Behave yourself." 

"Yes, Mum," he said in mock contrition. He turned instead to say hello to Bridget, who was eager to boast about how well she'd done in her GCE scores - better than Tess, obviously, and better than either Liam or Charlie had managed. She was headed for sixth form college in a few weeks, hoping to do four or five A-levels, and was happy to tell Charlie all about her plans for getting a scholarship to one of the Oxford colleges and do languages. 

Charlie made all the right encouraging noises, but only part of his attention was on the conversation. They were heading down the A34, and the last time he'd come down this road he'd been with Rory... was it only four weeks ago? It seemed more like a lifetime; so many things had happened since then. 

It didn't take long to get to the airport, but parking the car and getting Tess's luggage out took a while longer. Then Tess spent a good twenty minutes in the queue to check in, while Charlie and the rest of the family waited off to one side. Finally, Tessa's baggage was swallowed into the system and she came back to them, clutching her boarding pass and passport in her hand. 

"I'm checked through to Sydney," she said. 

"Oh, that's good, love. I didn't like the thought of you having to carry your suitcase around Heathrow." 

"It’s got wheels, Mum, but yeah, all I have to worry about now is the backpack and my tickets." So saying, she carefully stowed her papers in the bag. "I still have to go through customs at Heathrow, but that shouldn't take too long, and then I can check out the duty-free shopping." 

"We've still got time for a cup of tea, I think," said Meg, checking her watch. "The flight doesn't leave for another hour." 

"Well, all right." 

They sat in one of the airport cafes and chatted in a desultory fashion for about half an hour, until Tess decided she absolutely had to get to the departure lounge. 

"Now, Tess, love, you know where you have to go at Heathrow?" 

"Yes, Mum." 

"And you've got Uncle Colin's number in Sydney?" 

"He'll be there to meet me." 

"Well, just in case he isn't." 

"Yes, I have his number. And his address." 

"Good. Now don't lose them. And you have your phone card?" 

"Yes, Mum." 

"And remember what I said about staying in the busy areas. Don’t go off into any little corridors. And don't take any drinks from men. And-" 

"Mum!" Tess had obviously had enough. "I'm eighteen, not eight. I know how to look after myself. I'll be all right, honest." 

Meg looked as if she seriously doubted this statement, and for two pins would stop Tess from flying halfway around the world - on her own! - and bundle her off home to be cosseted and looked after. 

Charlie put his arm around her shoulders. "It's OK, Mum," he said, soothingly. "Tess'll be fine. You'll see." 

Tess threw him a grateful look and smiled back. She hugged everyone, then gathered up her bag and coat and walked towards the scanners. She passed through the screening, then looked back and waved at them before walking out of their view. 

Meg was mopping her eyes, barely comforted by Charlie on one side and Biddy on the other. "Oh, she's so young." 

"Tess was born thirty," Charlie countered. "She knows how to handle herself. I'd be sorry for any man who tries to take her on - they wouldn't stand a chance." 

Meg gave him a watery smile and a pat on the hand. "You're a good boy, Charlie-love." 

Charlie smiled, but said nothing, just hugged her and waited until she was ready to move. It wasn't long before she straightened up, blew her nose, gave her children a determined smile and led them back to the car. 

"Are you coming back to the house?" she asked Charlie as they pulled out of the car park. 

"Sure." There wasn't much else he could do anyway, and it would please her. Besides, he could probably stretch it into a meal before heading over to Pat's for band practice. And then he had the very unwelcome task of begging her for money - and if that didn't work he'd really have to swallow his pride and ask his father. 

~~~~~ 

They sat in the kitchen, just Charlie and Meg, and drank their tea. Biddy was on the phone to one of her friends, trying to arrange an outing over the coming weekend, and Kevin was still over at his friend Brian's, leaving mother and son alone and somewhat subdued. 

Charlie was staring into his teacup, trying to work up the courage to ask her for money, when he noticed that the room was very quiet. He looked up to find his mother examining him intently. 

"What's up?" he asked, the cheery note in his voice ringing false even to his ears. 

"I could ask you the same thing, love. You've been very quiet." 

Charlie shrugged. "Not much to say." 

"So what did you get up to while we were in Ireland? We missed you, you know - your uncle Jim asked after you a couple of times, and so did your cousin Mary." 

Charlie squirmed in his seat. "I couldn't go, Mum. I'm sorry, I was busy." 

"Doing what?" 

"Stuff." 

Meg didn't' seem satisfied with his answer but, to his relief, didn't pursue it. "Have you had any luck with the job-hunting?" 

"I put in loads of applications, had a couple of interviews, but nothing more. Too many school-leavers at the moment. It'll get easier in a month or two, I hope." He spoke with an optimism he didn't feel. 

"I'll say a few prayers for you," she said, and smiled. "I'm sure you'll find something soon." 

"I hope so." 

"How are you getting on with Liam? He didn't say much when I asked him about you last week. Have you had another fight?" 

Charlie shrugged. "Not really." 

"No more bones broken, I hope? You're going to have to get a grip on that temper one day, pet." 

"How did you know -?" 

"Charlie, I'm your mother. Of course I know. Both of you looking daggers at each other, and you looking guilty when you thought no one was watching... it's always been the same. I wish you two would get on better." 

"Might as well wish for the moon in a bucket, Mum. We're always going to fight." 

"I suppose that's true, sad as I am to admit it. Though why you insisted on moving in with him, I don't know. You should have realised it would only make things worse." 

Charlie shrugged again. He'd asked himself the same question many times, even before he'd lost his job, but had never taken the trouble to move out. Then, with only the dole between him and starvation, he'd had nowhere else to go. 

"Why don't you move back home?" she went on. "Tessa's room is free for the next twelve months at least. That would give you plenty of time to get back on your feet. I wouldn't charge you any rent while you're on the dole, and if you do get a job we can sort out what's fair." 

"What about Dad?" 

"What about him?" 

"Well, would he be OK with me moving back in? He wasn't too happy with me when I left." 

"That was last Christmas, dear, and he was worried about you. I'm sure he'd much rather have you safe at home than out on the streets." 

Charlie's head jerked up. "Did Liam actually tell you that? Bastard." 

"Tell me what?" 

_Oh, shit._ Too late, Charlie realised he shouldn't have said that. He'd almost given Liam away, and that was more than unfortunate, it was bloody dangerous. He had to think fast - he had to give his Mum a good story before she went and interrogated Liam, or Liam would have no hesitation in revealing everything that had been going on. Much as it sickened him, he'd have to tell his Mum about the sublet in a way that made Liam look good. 

"Well," he began, a little hesitantly, "I haven't been able to pay any rent since May, when I lost my job, and he's been paying my share as well as his own, and then Ben was talking about moving out, and ... well, it was all getting a bit too much for him, so he sublet my room. Don't worry, though, he's not throwing me out, but it means I'm sleeping on the couch. Just for the time being. 

Meg set her cup down with a thud. "That does it, young man. You're moving back home right now." 

"Mum -" 

"Charlie. I cannot and will not stand by and see a child of mine on the streets. Ever." 

"It's not that bad -" 

"You can't live in a place where you don't even have a bed, or even a room of your own. I know you, love, you love to tinker with that guitar of yours, and you can hardly do that if you're sleeping on the couch. And where would you put all your things? No, I won't allow it." 

Charlie muttered under his breath, but he knew it was useless. His mother was on the warpath and there were very few who could resist her onslaught. And while he didn't want to take her charity, it was better and more reliable than Liam's, so he forced the words out: "All right, Mum. No need to go mental about it. I - I would like to move home, if it's all right with you and Dad." 

"Of course it is." 

"Are you sure about Dad? We had a right barney over me moving out." 

"He won't say anything at all. Not if he knows what's good for him." She nodded in a way that boded ill for Michael Pace if he dared to voice any objection, then smiled brightly at Charlie. "How about I run you over there now and we can pick up your things?" 

"No!" He couldn't risk her seeing the place in the state it was in - not to mention the absence of various items that Rory's men had taken. While he could no doubt explain the disappearance of CDs and even the TV, there was no way he'd be parted willingly from his guitars, and she knew that. "No, it's... well, it's not convenient. It would take me a couple of hours to pack up, and I've got a band practice at Pat's this evening. I'll pack up my gear in the morning and you or Dad can pick me up then." 

"All right, dear. I suppose that means you'll want your tea here?" 

"Yes, please." 

"Fine, I'll get you something." She stood up and took her mug over to the sink. 

At the table, Charlie took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Mum?" 

"Yes, dear." 

"There is one more thing." 

"What is it, dear?" 

"Could I borrow a hundred quid?" 

~~~~~ 

"Hey, Charlie. How's things?" called Patrick as Charlie walked into the garage they used as a practise room. 

"Fine, thanks," Charlie answered, though it was a complete lie. "Listen, did you -" 

"Yeah, it’s over there. And don't you dare scratch it." 

"I'll be careful. Promise." He walked over to the case and opened it up. The bass seemed to glower at him, dark and brooding, so different from the warm wood tones of his own bass. He grasped the neck and pulled it out of the case, noting how different it felt. The body was heavier, the neck a little longer. He didn't get a good vibe from it at all. Still, it was all he had for the evening, and he was grateful to Patrick for having borrowed it for him. 

He sorted out the cables and made sure he was plugged into the amps. Then he tried a soft chord. The guitar was slightly out of tune, so he spent a few minutes fiddling with it until he was happy. 

Sinjin strolled in and they spent a few minutes catching up on the news of the last month as Sinjin got his own guitar out. Charlie gave a carefully-edited version of his own summer, leaving out any mention of money, and simply saying that he'd been staying with someone. 

"So, where's Liam?" asked Sinjin, looking around as if he expected their lead singer to be hiding in a corner. 

Charlie shrugged. "Don't know. He said he'd come straight from work." 

"How's his wrist?" 

"Seems OK. I haven't heard him playing, though." 

"Our first gig's on the sixteenth - he'd better be OK for that." 

"He'll be fine," Charlie reassured them with a confidence he didn't feel in the least. 

The door rattled open and Liam ambled in. "Hey, everyone," he greeted them. He nodded to Charlie and gave Sinjin and Pat a friendly thump on the shoulder before showing them his wrist. There was still a visible lump, and his movements were a bit stiff, but already it was much improved from the week before. 

"How is it?" asked Patrick. 

"It's OK. It gets sore after a bit, but I'll be fine by the sixteenth." 

"You'd better be," muttered Sinjin. "Five gigs we missed because of you." 

"Hey," protested Liam. "Wasn't my fault. Charlie pushed me over, remember?" 

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, it's always my fault. Get over it. We've got a gig to prepare for." He picked up the borrowed bass and started strumming the intro to one of the songs. 

Sinjin's eyes narrowed as he looked at the bass. "Where did you get that? What happened to your old one?" 

"It's gone. Kaput." Sinjin seemed to accept that for the moment, and Charlie continued, "This one's not mine. I'm just trying it out. Don't worry, mate, I'll have a guitar before the gig." 

"You'd better be right. I'm not going to let you lose us any more gigs." 

"Don't worry. I'll sort it out." He cursed silently and tried a scale. The pitch was still slightly off, and he fiddled with the tuning knobs until he was happy with it. The tone of the instrument was a bit harsher than he liked, though, and he was glad he only had to put up with it for one night. 

The others shuffled around, getting into position. 

"What do you want to do first?" he asked. 

"How about _Going to Ground?"_

"OK". It had a bass introduction and he launched into it, hoping that his own wrist would hold out after not having played for nearly five weeks. 

~~~~~ 

All in all, the practice went about as well as could be expected, which is to say, not well at all. Charlie's hands were a little clumsy from lack of practice, while Liam's wrist was stiff and slow. The other two became more and more frustrated as they switched from song to song without much improvement. 

Finally, Liam bent over and unplugged his guitar. "That's it for me," he declared, rubbing his wrist. "I can't do any more tonight." 

"But we're only halfway through," grumbled Pat. 

"I can't do it, Pat. It's too sore. I'll put some ice on it and keep working, but I have to take it a bit more slowly." 

"But we've only got a fortnight!" 

"We'll make it, honest. But you can't expect me to play for two hours when I've only been out of the cast for ten days. Just be thankful I managed as long as I did." He smiled cruelly. "Charlie didn't do much better and he doesn't have a broken wrist as an excuse." 

"Fuck off." Charlie didn't trust himself to say any more than that. It would be useless to try and defend himself - both useless and dangerous. Any mention of Rory McManus or the precise way in which he'd lost his guitar would bring out the whole story, and while the others knew he was gay, he didn't want them knowing about the Agreement he and Liam had worked out with McManus, or the details of how he'd spent the month of August. 

"I'll practise," was all he said as he, too, unplugged and started packing up. 

It didn't take long to pack up the three guitars, and soon Sinjin and Liam were wandering out the door. 

"Hey, Charlie," said Pat. "Are you really OK?" 

Charlie conjured up a rueful smile. Pat was one of his oldest friends and he really didn't want to lie to him. "I'm OK," he said. "I'm not a hundred per cent, but I'm OK." 

Pat gave him an understanding smile in response. "Listen, if Liam gets too much for you, I can ask Mum if you can doss down with us for a while. We could drag the camp bed into my room." 

Charlie felt an enormous rush of gratitude at the suggestion. "Thanks, mate, but I'm moving back home tomorrow. Tessa's just left for her gap year, you know, so I'll be using her room for a while, just until I can get myself sorted." 

"Do you need a hand? I could bring the van around." 

"Thanks, but I don't have much. Just a couple of bags, and my Dad's going to pick me up in the car." 

They shared a grin - they both had the same opinion of the Pace family Volvo - and Charlie nodded, a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I know. I said I'd never get in the bloody thing again, but..." 

"Yeah, man, I know how it is." 

"Thanks for the offer, though - lift and room." 

"Well, it's still open. If your Dad gets on your wick just give me a call." 

"Yeah, I'll remember that." 

Charlie finished packing away the bass guitar and closed the case. "And thank for the guitar." 

"No problem. As long as I get it back in the morning he'll never know it was missing." He winked at Charlie, who winced. 

"I don't want you getting in trouble, mate," he said. "Can't risk you losing your job." 

"Stuff it. What's the point of working in a music store if I can't give the goods a test run now and again, eh? Now bugger off before Liam leaves you behind." 

"OK. See you." 

  


_Sunday 05 September, 8:50 am_

Charlie woke hot and wet and sticky, and groaned. He'd had another dream about Rory, where Rory was wanking him with a strong fist and holding him close... only to find that the fist was his own and he'd made a horrible mess of his pyjamas again. 

He opened his eyes and looked around the room, which still seemed so unfamiliar. It was the girls' room - well, Tess's room. Now it was Charlie's room for the next twelve months, at least until he could find a job and a place to stay. He wasn't going to be in such a hurry to move out this time, though. 

There was a knock at the door and his mother popped her head in. "Morning, love," she smiled. "Are you coming to mass with us?" 

Charlie smiled back, but shook his head. "Not this week," he said, trying to make it sound like an exception and not the rule. 

Thankfully, his mother didn't press the point, saying "All right, dear. We'll see you later on." 

"Bye." 

He spent the next few minutes listening to the sounds of the family getting ready to leave. Kevin's voice could be heard complaining, "But why do I have to go? Charlie's not going!", and Charlie smiled. Sometimes it felt very good to be the favoured one. 

Truth to tell, he wouldn't mind going to mass, but he hadn't been to confession in months, and he had no idea when he'd ever have the courage again. Not here, anyway, not with Father Maurice on the other side of the grille. There was no way he could tell him about all the things he'd done in the past year. He'd never mentioned that he was gay, not even in the days when it had been a burden to him, not even when he'd thought that confession might ease his mind. He'd known even then that there was no point in confessing to something he couldn’t change. It wasn't as if a couple of "Hail Mary"s were going to turn him straight. He loved cock too much to give it up, loved the sex, loved the way a man could grow hard in his hand, loved the way men kissed, loved the way they smelled after a good hard shag... 

He spurted into his hand again. 

Fuck. 

~~~~~ 

The family returned around midday, by which time Charlie had got up, showered and dressed. He could smell the roast beef in the oven as he came down the stairs, and checked that the vegetables were ready to put in as soon as everyone got home. He even set the table, which earned him a hug from his mother. 

"Thanks, love," she smiled "Feeling more rested?" 

"Yes, Mum," he smiled back, glad to be there. 

Liam turned up at one o'clock. Charlie glared at him, daring him to mention anything about the previous month, but Liam kept quiet, for once, and the meal proceeded without incident, except for Kevin being told to go and wash his hands again. 

"And this time use soap!" his mother chided. "Honestly, how do you manage to find so much dirt in so short a time?" She shook her head, but she was smiling all the same, and Kevin just grinned as he scampered off to run his hands haphazardly under the tap. 

After they'd finished eating, Meg called Liam into the kitchen to help her with the dishes, while Charlie and Biddy cleared the table and tidied up. 

He walked into the kitchen, and gently deposited his burden on the bench before creeping back into the living room. His mother didn't see him, but Liam did, and gave him a glare that made Charlie want to cringe. Meg was obviously trying to be quiet, but her voice was rising as she got more and more worked up, and Charlie clearly heard her say, "Liam Benedict Michael Pace! You're my first-born son, and there's nothing you can do that will stop me from loving you, but I swear by the Holy Mother and all the saints in heaven, if you ever treat your brother like that again I'll skelp the living daylights out of you!" 

Charlie winced; Liam was never going to forgive him for that. He sidled out of the kitchen and wondered if he should go for a walk until Liam had cooled down, or if he should stay and get the inevitable confrontation over with. He opted for discretion and was just heading to the front door when Liam grabbed his shoulder and swung him around. 

"Come back here, you cunt!" Liam's face was as black as thunder, and his voice threatened serious bodily harm. 

"I didn't tell her, I swear!" 

"Well, how else did she find out, then? Bloody osmosis?" 

"Look, she said something, and I thought she already knew, and I asked if you'd told her, and she pounced on it. You know what she's like - she could interrogate for England! I didn't have a chance." 

Liam advanced on him, and Charlie backed away. "You can't hit me. Mum'll kill you." 

"Won't matter if you're already dead." 

Charlie found himself up against the wall, about to be on the receiving end of a nasty left hook. He wondered if he could escape by darting under Liam's right arm – which still wasn't at full strength, after all – when salvation appeared in the form of their father. 

"Oy, you two! Break it up. I'll have no fighting in here." 

Liam hesitated, and Charlie honestly thought he was going to get a beating in spite of his dad's presence. 

"Liam!" his father warned again, and Liam slowly relaxed his grip and let him go. 

"You _owe_ me for this," he hissed into Charlie's ear, then opened the front door and walked out. 

"What was all that about?" asked Mr Pace. 

"Nothing. Just stuff." He stuffed his hands in his pockets so his dad didn't see them shaking, and walked upstairs to his room. 

~~~~~ 

Charlie looked at the mess in his hand and sighed. Three times today he'd wanked, and he still kept thinking about Rory bloody McManus. 

He got up and went to the bathroom, washing his hands and then taking a pee. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and stopped, looking critically at his irregular features. 

"What ever made you think he'd be interested in you?" he asked himself. "Not exactly Stuart Alan Jones, are you? Not exactly the rage of the Manchester clubs. He's got money, he's got the looks, he could have anyone he wanted. He wouldn't even have to ask. So why would he ever look at you?" 

_Because I love him._

"Stupid idiot." 

He dried his hands on the nearest towel and went back to bed. 

  


_Monday 06 September_

Charlie was in despair. He'd been walking around town all day, going from one music dealer to another, but still hadn't bought anything. He'd looked at brand new guitars (not a hope of affording them, of course, but he couldn't resist looking), and then at second-hand ones, but he hadn't been able to find one that he'd really liked. He'd tried several, but there was always something wrong - the tuning knobs were loose, or the tone was sour, or the circuits kept cutting out, or they hissed when he turned the volume above a whisper. Nothing had tempted him to hand over the small bundle of cash he'd managed to extract from his mother. And he had to get a bass before the band's next practice – he couldn't rely on Pat being able to smuggle another guitar out of the shop. 

Dispiritedly, he wandered through the less salubrious streets, trying hard not to go past anywhere he'd been with Rory. He couldn't stop thinking about the man, but that was no reason to risk running into him. He had to accept that it was just something that was going to hurt like hell for a few months. Didn't make it any easier. 

He hadn't even thought of the pawnshop, to be truthful, until he was walking past and saw the dusty goods in the window - radios, bicycles and chinaware rubbing shoulders with cheap jewellery and videos, but then... in the corner there was an acoustic guitar. If they had one guitar, they probably had more. 

It can't hurt to look, he told himself, and pushed open the door. The inside of the shop was even more cluttered than the display window, with items standing cheek-by-jowl in every conceivable space. There was a whole corner devoted to instruments, with several guitars, and he went over for a closer look. 

He felt his breath catch. There it was... his guitar, in a case in the corner, looking lonely and welcoming at the same time. He went up to have a closer look, holding his breath. Could it be? Could it possibly be...? 

His shoulder slumped in crushing disappointment. It wasn't his. It was the same make and model, but it wasn't the one he'd carried around for three years – he knew that guitar like the back of his hand, and this one didn't have the same marks and scratches on it. It wasn't his guitar. 

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. All right, it wasn't his own guitar – but it looked close enough, and with a bit of luck it would have the same tone. And if he could get the pawnbroker to accept a discount for cash, he might just be able to afford it. He looked for the price tag, and saw that it read one hundred and thirty pounds (case included) - which was ridiculously overpriced, and more than he had in his pocket, but if they gave a discount for cash, and he added in the whole of his dole money... he'd be penniless for a while, but that was nothing compared to getting a decent guitar again. And there was no reason why anyone need know it wasn't the one he'd been playing before... all he had to do was make sure he had the same strings, and tune it up the way he liked. Nothing difficult about that. 

The sales assistant – a pretty brunette with a professionally-bright smile – came up to him and asked if he was looking for anything in particular. 

He tried not to appear too eager. "Not really. Well... I was sort of looking for a guitar. Thought I'd have a look around a bit, see what's available, check prices. You know." 

"Yeah, I know." The smile faded a little. "Seen anything you like?" 

He nodded to the bass. "That one doesn't look too bad. Mind if I try it out?" 

"Well..." she was a bit hesitant. "I could let you try it out on headphones, I guess." 

"That's all I need." He picked up the guitar and shook it gently, but there were no rattles. He ran a finger over the strings – they were hopelessly out of tune – and fiddled with the tuning knobs. 

The assistant, meanwhile, had attached the power cord into one of the sockets behind the counter (Charlie rolled his eyes at the tangle of cables and cords and prayed that he wouldn't start a fire) and handed him a dusty pair of headphones. He plugged them in. Concentrating hard, he adjusted the tuning and tried a few chords. It was hard to tell from memory, but this guitar didn't seem to have quite the same warm tone that his old one had. Still, it was pretty good – the pickups worked well, the sustain didn't buzz, and the tone was OK right up to full volume. He ran through a couple of bass riffs and nodded. It wasn't ideal, but it was close, and he was unlikely to get anything better for the money he had. The fact that it looked like his old guitar would be a distinct bonus. 

"I'll take it," he said to the assistant. "Any discount for cash?" 

"Five percent," she answered promptly. 

Charlie smiled. "Done." He unplugged the guitar and placed it back in the case, then took out his wallet and counted up the notes. He was still six pounds short. "Umm – could you just hold it for a while, so I can get a bit more money out?" 

The girl frowned. "I guess... though I'm not supposed to hold anything." 

"It'll only be for ten minutes." He smiled winningly at her, willing her to be charmed. It seemed to work. 

"Oh, all right. But don't be long." 

"I won't." He raced out of the store and ran the two blocks to the nearest ATM, withdrew ten pounds (grimacing at the measly balance printed at the bottom) and ran back to the shop. The girl was attending to another customer, and he waited impatiently, shifting his weight from foot to foot, until she was free. 

She smiled at him and brought the case up from behind the counter. "There you are. All safe and sound." 

He opened the case and gave the guitar a quick check while she rang up the sale. Everything appeared to be in order, so he closed it and placed it by his feet. 

"Good luck with it," she said, as she handed him the receipt. 

"Thanks, I'll need it." 

He put his wallet away, picked up the case and strode out of the door, feeling a thousand times better than he had an hour before. He had a guitar again. He had a place to live. He still had no money and no job, but he could work on that. Somehow, the world seemed almost back to normal. 


	18. Chapter 18

_Tuesday 07 September 1999_

The mobile phone rang, and Charlie looked around, startled by the sudden noise. It hadn't rung in over a week, not since he'd left... well, not since the first of September. The only reason it was still on was that he hoped... well, more like thought... well, it was simply that he wanted to be prepared, just in case Ro-someone ever needed to get in contact with him. 

He picked it up, hoping that the number displayed would be Rory's, but it was Liam's. He hadn't spoken to Liam since Sunday afternoon, and he wondered what on earth his brother had to say. He thumbed the button and said, "Charlie." 

"Hey, li'l bro', guess what?" Liam sounded excited, which made Charlie both curious and wary. 

"What?" 

"Got a call from a record company today." 

"Which one?" 

"Rhythm Records - " 

"Who are they? I've never heard of them." 

" - they want to offer us a contract! And they have an opening in a studio starting in a fortnight and they want us to record!" 

"Isn't that a bit fast?" 

"Hey, we're doing them a favour," Liam exclaimed. "The band they had booked for it just broke up and they want someone who can use the time, otherwise they lose their money." 

"So? That's their problem." 

"But, Charlie - just think about it! We could have a single out by December - maybe even an album. We could be in the charts by Christmas!" 

Charlie snorted. "And out of them by New Year. What sort of contract are they offering?" 

"The usual." 

"Fuck it, Liam! There's no such thing as 'the usual' when it comes to bands. Anything they offer us out of the blue is going to be crap. You know that." 

"But they need an answer fast or they'll sign someone else. And no one else has replied to the demo tape. It could be months - years even - before we get another chance like this." 

Charlie wavered. On the one hand, he really, really wanted to get their songs released. On the other, he didn't want to end up like the Beatles, who had never own the rights to their own songs, or all the bands who had still been in debt after several hit albums. Surely there was some way they could get a fair contract, one that would let them keep at least some control, wasn't there? 

"Couldn't we at least get a lawyer to look at it?" 

"Lawyers cost money, Charlie, and we don't have much." 

"And we never will if we don't get a good deal from the outset. What do the others say?" 

"Well, Patrick's all for it. Sinjin's OK, but he suggested getting a legal opinion too." 

_And thank you very much for telling me last, you prick,_ Charlie thought, but held his tongue. "Well, I'm not signing anything without a legal opinion. Maybe we can find someone who can do it on spec - you know, a percentage of our earnings, so that the more money the band makes the more money the lawyers get. That should help them to get us a good deal." 

"Hey, good idea. I might ring up Peter, he did law." 

"Which Peter is that?" 

"Peter Browning - from school." 

"Bloody hell, I was talking about a real lawyer, not one of your school friends. We have to get this right, Liam. Otherwise we might as well not bother." 

Liam sighed. "Well, what do we do then?" 

"How long have we got?" 

"A few days, couple of weeks at the most." 

"Do you think Dad would cough up for a lawyer?" 

"No." 

Charlie had to agree. "No, you're right. What about Sinjin's parents?" 

"Dunno. Doubt it. They don't like the band much either." 

"And I know Pat's people haven't got much. Fuck. Maybe we just have to wait until the next time." 

"And what if there isn't a next time? What if this is the only chance we ever get?" 

"If we're good enough, there'll be another chance." 

"I want _this_ one, Charlie. I don't want to wait any longer - I'm dying in that bloody office. I need to get out there and play full-time." 

"Yeah, that would be good." 

"Look, Sinjin suggested that we get the draft contract from Rhythm and have a look at it tomorrow night." 

"Sounds good to me." 

~~~~~ 

As Charlie had expected, the contract was heavily biased in favour of the company. They were offered an advance of forty thousand pounds and a fifteen per-cent royalty deal, which sounded fine at first, until they started reading the details. Advance to be recouped over twelve months, deductions to be made for manufacturing and distribution costs, more deductions for advertising, yet more deductions for production costs... 

"Look at this!" Charlie exclaimed, pointing at one clause. "They want to retain the copyright on every single song they release!" 

"Can they do that?" asked Pat. "I mean, distribution rights, maybe, but surely we own the copyright of the songs we write?" 

"Not if we sign them over - which is what we'd be doing." 

"Fuck. We can't do that - we've got some good stuff there." Sinjin kicked the chair leg. 

"There has to be a way," said Liam. 

Charlie rubbed his chin. "We really need a lawyer - one who works in the industry and knows what's good and what's bad." 

"What firm did Duran Duran use?" asked Sinjin. 

"What the fuck's that got to do with it?" asked Liam. 

"Because I read that they got one of the sweetest deals in history - took them years to pay off the legal fees, but after that they were home and dry." 

Liam snorted. "Bunch of pretty-boy wankers. I'm not using any firm they used." 

"Don't be so stupid, " countered Charlie. "We'll use anyone who's good. Though it was probably a London firm, and we'll have to use someone from Manchester." 

"Did Oasis use a local firm?" asked Pat, twirling around on his stool. 

They all looked blank. 

"Don't know," answered Sinjin, after a pause. "I could ask around." 

"Do that," said Liam, trying to wrest control of the meeting back from Charlie. "I don't suppose... well, you've met them, Sinjin. Do you think they'd give us any advice?'' 

"Besides telling us to fuck off, you mean? I doubt it." 

They all laughed at that, but quickly returned to a sombre consideration of their position. After a few more minutes of brooding silence, Sinjin stood up. 

"Well, we can't sign this, but we need legal advice on what changes to suggest. Are we all agreed on that?" There were nods all around. "And since there's nothing more we can do about the contract until we've got a solicitor, there's no point in sitting around any longer. Let's start playing." 

  


_Wednesday, 08 September 7:30 am_

"Morning, Dad." 

"Morning, son." 

"Would you like a coffee?" 

"Thanks." 

"Paper's on the table." 

"Thanks." 

Charlie busied himself with making coffee and toast while his father sat down and started to read the headlines. It had been a real effort, getting up this early, but his father was always tired and cranky when he got home from work, and Charlie didn't dare leave it to the weekend. 

"Er, Dad..." he began, as he set the cup down. 

"What?" Michael's nose was buried in the paper, 

"I don't suppose you could lend me some money, could you?" 

Michael grunted non-committally and asked, "What do you want it for?" 

"Well, the band's been offered a recording contract." 

Michael made no reply and kept on reading. 

"Dad," repeated Charlie. 

"What?" 

"I said the band's been offered a contract." 

"I heard you. So what do you want money for?" 

"The contract they offered us is crap. We need a lawyer to help us fix it." 

At that, Michael dropped the paper and looked at his son. "You want me to pay for a lawyer so that you can get a recording contract?" 

"Well... yes." 

Michael took a deep breath, his face hardening and his eyes narrowing, and Charlie prepared himself for the inevitable. "I've told you before, son. The sooner you give up these stupid dreams of being a rock star and get yourself a proper job, the better off you'll be. Look at Liam – he's got a good job, with prospects. But then he managed to finish his degree, didn't he? You decided you were too good for university, and now look at you... no money, no self-respect, begging from your own parents... No, Charlie, you'll not be getting a penny from me as encouragement." 

"But, Dad –" 

"You can play in your band at the weekends if you want, but I'm not paying for you to go gallivanting around the country, getting drunk and taking drugs and sleeping with loose women, getting all sorts of diseases." 

Charlie couldn't believe his ears. "It's not like that, Dad," he began, but his father went on anyway. 

"I said no, and that's final." He got up and took his paper through to the lounge. 

Charlie sat down at the table and rested his head on his arms. He knew better than to persist when his father had made his mind up, but he couldn't help resenting the old man's intransigence. It was so unfair – they were so close, and all they needed was a bit of legal help so they weren't screwed over, and his father just couldn't see how important it was to them. 

~~~~~ 

He walked around to Patrick's place again that evening and broke the news. 

"It's so unfair," he complained, throwing himself down on Pat's bed. "This is the only chance we'll get for years, if ever, and he just can't see it!" 

Patrick sympathised, but then he grinned. "I might be able to help." 

"How? Your family doesn't have any more money than we do." 

"Well, Mum and Dad don't, but my uncle's pretty well off since he sold the company." 

"And?" 

"Well, you know it's my twenty-first next month?" 

"Yeah. So?" 

"So my uncle was going to give me some money towards a house deposit. I talked to him last night and he said he'll pay for the legal fees instead. And he knows a couple of lawyers who've done entertainment work, so he'll get us an appointment." 

Charlie sat up so fast he nearly gave himself a nosebleed. "Really?" 

Patrick grinned and looked very smug. "Yeah. Really." 

Charlie jumped up and hugged his friend. "Fantastic! Oh, man, this is great! Amazing! Wonderful!" He fell back on the bed and started laughing. "Oh, wait till Liam hears this! 

"And Sinjin." 

"They won't believe this!" 

"They will when we see the lawyers." 

They grinned at each other. Finally – it was within reach! 

  


_Thursday 16 September_

The first gig went an awful lot better than they expected - or deserved, added Charlie, silently. It was at a smallish pub, which was both good (since it meant a mix of covers and their own material) and bad (since the pay was abysmal and the hecklers were easily audible). At least they got a few free beers. 

Liam's wrist held out better than they had expected, though he was clearly having difficulties towards the end of the second set, playing a few discordant notes and lagging behind on the riffs. Charlie had practised every day since getting his new guitar and wasn't too bad, but even he felt abnormally fatigued at the end of the evening. 

The four of them sat in the small room behind the bar trying to recoup their energy before packing up. Pat didn't stay long, just threw back his drink and headed out to get a head start on the drums. Charlie wondered if he ought to go out and help, but he was just too knackered. 

Sinjin was glowering into his beer. He hated anything that made his own playing look bad, and with both the rhythm and bass having difficulties, there had been a few distinctly dodgy patches during the set. 

Liam was rubbing his wrist, trying to ease the cramps, while Charlie was stretching his own fingers and wondering how many more hours of practice it would take to bring himself back up to speed. Still, he consoled himself, at least he had time to practise. 

"Well, at least they didn't throw anything at us," Charlie said, trying to improve the mood. 

Neither Sinjin nor Liam was impressed. "Might have helped," muttered Sinjin. "You were bloody crap, both of you." 

"Hey, man" expostulated Liam, always ready with another excuse. "I know I'm not back to normal but I think I did pretty well for only being out of plaster three weeks. The physio said it would probably be a couple of months before I'm a hundred percent." 

Sinjin finished his beer and stood up. "You'd better be a hundred percent the next time we play, Liam. And if you bollix up the recording I'm going to be looking around for another group. I haven't given two years of my life to this band to have it thrown away by a couple of fucking amateurs." He picked up his guitar case and strode out of the room. 

"What the fuck's wrong with him?" asked Liam, of no one in particular. 

Charlie said nothing - he'd become much, much better at holding his tongue in the last two months. Still, he filed away Sinjin's comment for future reference. 

_Friday 17 September 10am_

"So, gentleman, are we all agreed on these final revisions?" asked the solicitor, all smooth vowels and tailored suit. 

They all nodded. Charlie took heart from the fact that the company rep was looking decidedly unhappy. _Must have given us more of an advantage than he wanted._ He allowed himself a brief smile before composing his features into a suitably solemn expression. Contract or no, the company could still make life difficult for them if they wanted to, and it didn't pay to antagonise them unnecessarily. 

"Then I think we can safely initial and sign the document." 

They all signed in turn – so many pages, so many copies – and then waited for the record company representative to sign. Their solicitor took the band's copy and tucked it away in his briefcase. 

They had a contract. 

It certainly wasn't the best deal in history – they were just starting out, after all, and while they had a bit of a local following, they didn't have enough clout to give them any real leverage with the company. Still, it was certainly a lot better than the original draft. They had a decent advance, a decent royalty percentage, and, best of all, the solicitor had managed to get the production costs taken out of the company's share and not the band's. The company had only acquiesced to that since the band had assured them they could record almost everything live, keeping the costs to a minimum. That meant no money for fancy effects or a high-profile producer, but that was all right by Charlie, and he'd persuaded the others to agree to it. The band played live every week, after all, and if they couldn't get it right in the studio they didn't deserve to have a contract. 

The only thing that was still worrying him was the possibility that the company might not be able to promote their album when it was finally done. Rhythm Records was hardly Epic or Capitol or Sony – they were a medium-sized independent label with a strong northern catalogue, and they didn't really need DriveShaft as much as the band needed them. They could quite easily ignore the band and concentrate on promoting their higher-profile artists... but Charlie would see to it that the band got heard. He wrote most of the songs after all. He was the real voice of DriveShaft, no matter what Liam and Sinjin thought. He'd make the company listen to them. And once they had a couple of hits under their belt, well, then they could have another look at the contract. 

They left the offices in a jubilant mood, running down the steps into the sunshine. 

"We're made, guys!" exclaimed Pat, punching the air. 

"Some money at last," breathed Charlie. 

"Studio time - next month!" added Liam. 

"And a single out by Christmas," said Sinjin. 

"Royalties!" laughed Pat. 

"After expenses," put in Charlie. "We have to make a profit first." 

"Oh, there'll be profits," vowed Liam. "Big, fat, juicy profits." 

"And all the girls we could ever want," leered Sinjin. 

"Big, fat, juicy girls," Liam was almost slavering at the thought. 

"Suit yourselves, guys," added Charlie, who was starting to feel a bit light-headed. "I'm waiting for the pretty boys." 

Sinjin draped an arm over Charlie's shoulder. "Don't you worry. You can have all the boys." 

"Really?" Charlie fluttered his eyelashes and added in a breathy voice, "Don't you want some of the pretty boys? I'm sure they'd like some of you." He drew a finger suggestively down Sinjin's arm. 

Sinjin guffawed. "Fuck off, Charlie! They're all yours, kiddo." 

Charlie gave an exaggerated sigh and dropped his voice back to its normal deep pitch. "Well, that's a relief. I'd hate to have to fight you for them." 

"So..." Liam brought them back to whatever was passing for reality that day, "all we have to do now is record the year's best album." 

"And a number one single." 

"And a shit-kicking video." 

"DriveShaft Rules!" 

  


_Friday 24 September 1999_

Liam leant into the microphone. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, you've been a great audience. We're going to finish up now, but we'll leave you with one final song, called 'Let Me Ride'." 

It had been a reasonably good gig, in spite of the fact that everyone in the band was so tired from recording all week that they were almost staggering like zombies. The audience was above average (half-smashed, dancing like Robbie the Robot, and slinking away for a hot snog every ten minutes), the club's acoustics were all right, the manager was congenial, and they'd cadged a few free beers during the warm-up and the break. Now, as the opening notes of the song flowed from Sinjin's guitar, Charlie was feeling exhilarated, and the chords thrumming through his body like an electric current. 

His eyes scanned the crowd during the chorus (which he could play with his eyes closed, and sometimes did), but there wasn't much to see – not that the light was good for watching the crowd anyway. There were quite a few pretty girls towards the front (Liam would be happy with that), and he could see a few guys closer to the bar. He cast a glance that way, wondering if any of them were gay, if any of them were interested in the band, if any of them might fancy _him._ Not that he was after anything but a quick fuck - it had only three weeks since he had been "returned" to his family, and while his body might have recovered, his heart certainly hadn't. But he missed the feeling of warm hands on his chest and hot breath ghosting over his skin, and if he couldn't have the one he really wanted, he'd take someone who wanted him. 

It didn't help that he was so bloody tired that he'd started hallucinating. Twice during the evening he could have sworn he'd seen Rory's face, but when he'd looked more closely there was nothing there - no one who even looked like him. He put it down to exhaustion and the fact that he hadn't recovered from the psychological trauma of the past couple of months. It was obviously going to take him a while to get over it. 

He sighed and tried to concentrate on the song. _A blow job would be good, though._

They finished the set and went into the small backstage area for a breather and a beer. Sinjin was a lot happier tonight – they really had played quite well, though Liam had muffed his chords once or twice. 

"I'm knackered," groaned Liam, sprawling back in his chair, sweat dripping down from his hair. 

"It was good, though," said Sinjin, pulling his T-shirt up to mop his face. "Good crowd." 

"Yeah," Charlie murmured, to no one in particular. He was too tired to think. He was looking forward to the weekend – two days of blessed rest before going back to the studio on Monday to finish off some of the vocal tracks. After that, it was business as usual for six weeks or so until the single could be released. 

It wasn't until later, after they went back to dismantle the gear, that Charlie sensed the figure hovering a few feet away. He looked up, and his throat went dry. It looked like Rory. He blinked and looked again, but the figure was still there... and it still looked like Rory. It really was Rory this time, in a light blue shirt and jeans, looking younger, and a little uncertain, and not at all Shark-like. 

Charlie straightened up, not sure what to do. He stared at Rory, wondering what he wanted. Had there been some mistake, after all? Had Rory decided to reclaim all the money he'd spent on Charlie? Or was this just a social call? He had no idea, and as usual he couldn't read Rory's expression. 

"You want a drink?" Rory asked, after a few seconds. 

Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice for the moment. His heart was beating hard against his ribs and he had to clench his hands tightly around the flex he was holding to stop himself shaking. 

"Stella?" 

"Yeah - yeah, that would be nice," he stammered. He watched Rory turn and head for the bar, feeling slightly faint. 

"Looks like someone's got a fan!" Patrick's teasing laugh came from behind him. 

"Oh, shut up, it's nothing like that." Charlie felt himself reddening and bent down to unplug another connection. 

"Isn't it? Well, I guess you won't be needing me to pack up the rest of your gear for you while you have your beer, then, will you?" 

"Would you?" He started to wind the cord into a coil, only to stumble as it caught around his legs. Patrick steadied him while he untangled himself, then took the cord out of his hands. 

"Yeah, all right, but only so that I don't have to worry about you falling on your arse and breaking _your_ wrist." 

"Big of you." 

Patrick just laughed. "Will you still be needing a lift later?" 

"Dunno." Charlie looked in the direction of the bar. "Maybe." 

"I'll give you half an hour." 

"Thanks, mate." Charlie gave him a grin and went over to join Rory, who had just picked up his two beers. "We can sit down if you like," he said, indicating a table that had just been vacated. 

"Yeah, that would be good." 

They sat down and Rory pushed a glass across the table. Charlie took it and drank, smiling at the taste. "Thanks, that's good." 

Rory nodded. 

They sat in an awkward silence while Charlie waited for Rory to speak, then wondered if he was supposed to speak first. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn't be threatening or accusatory, and finally settled on "Umm... did you like the show?" 

"Yeah, it was OK." 

Rory didn't sound enthusiastic, but Charlie found that strangely reassuring. If he hadn't come for the music, he must have come to see Charlie, and that meant he was still interested in him. He relaxed a little and said, "Hey, did you hear the news? We've got a contract. Rhythm Records - a three-disc deal. They had an opening and wanted us to go straight into the studio, so we've been recording all week." 

"That's good." 

"Yeah, we're really happy about it. They're talking about releasing a single before the end of the year, and a tour next year - maybe even the US. It's going to be awesome." 

"You'll be stars in no time. Top of the charts, breakfast show on TV, fan girls from here to breakfast." 

Charlie snickered. "Not me, mate. I'm too fond of cock." 

"You wouldn't make an exception for a California blonde with legs that go all the way up to her armpits?" 

"Only if she had a ten-inch cock." He took a swallow of beer. "Mind you... if there's anywhere you could find a leggy blonde with a ten-inch cock it'd be California." 

They laughed together, but neither of them said anything further. Charlie wondered when – if - Rory was going to get around to telling him why he'd come here. He played with his glass for half a minute, then decided that he'd better make the first move or they'd still be here come Christmas. He took a deep breath and tried to sound casual and spontaneous. "It's good to see you. Again, I mean. Umm..." He stopped, and took another sip. This was harder than he'd expected. "I – I used to wonder, you know, what might have happened if we'd met like this... just you and me, having a beer, chatting after a gig. If we would've liked each other. If we... well, you know, if things would have worked out." 

Rory nodded. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something, and Charlie waited for him. 

"I..." Rory hesitated. "I..." He took a deep breath and tried again. "You left a c-couple of things at the f-flat. I... I thought you might w-want to come over some time and pick them up." 

Charlie nodded. He was sure it wasn't what Rory had intended to say, but it was a start. "Yeah, I could do that." He took another swallow of his beer and added, "Maybe we could go for a meal - that Italian place was good." 

Suddenly Rory smiled at him, and Charlie felt his heart give a little thump. He mentally crossed his fingers and hoped that this was going where he thought it was going. 

"Aye, it was." Rory's voice sounded a little more confident but his hands were still tight around his glass. "Er... are you - are you playing tomorrow?" 

"No. Nothing planned." 

"Well, m-maybe tomorrow night then?" 

"Yeah, that would be good." 

They smiled at each other across the table, and Charlie felt a bit giddy. Rory had just asked him out. Rory had just asked him out on a date! 

"What time?" he asked. 

"Oh... anytime. Seven?" 

Charlie nodded. "Seven. At the Italian place." He'd have to catch the bus up, but that wasn't too much of a problem. He had a date with Rory! He felt like jumping to his feet and shouting it to the world. 

Rory drank more of his beer, and Charlie looked at the way his throat moved as he swallowed. Beautiful. There was no other word for it. Beautiful. He drained his own glass and said, "Well, I'd better get back before Patrick leaves." At Rory's questioning look he added, "I moved back home - Mum and Dad's place, I mean - when Tessa went to Australia. Pat's giving me a lift back." 

"Prestwich, right?" 

Charlie nodded, and rose from his chair. 

Rory got up, too. "I - I c-could take you." he said quickly. "I'm heading that way myself." 

Well, that was unexpected. And coming so soon after Rory had asked him out, it had to mean he was interested. Charlie tried to stay calm and in control, but he couldn't help smiling broadly. "A lift would be good, yeah. Pat's van gets a bit crowded with all of the gear in it." 

"Aye, I guess it would." 

There was another awkward pause, then Charlie dropped his gaze and muttered "I'll just go and get my jacket then." 

Rory nodded again, so Charlie hurried through to the backstage area and found his jacket and Patrick. 

"You ready, then?" 

Charlie grinned. "Don't need a lift, now." 

"You pulled, then?" Patrick looked amazed. "The guy who bought you the beer?" 

"Yeah! And don't look like it's a bloody miracle." He stuck his chin out and preened a little. "I may be short but I'm devastatingly attractive." 

"Yeah, right – to the blind and deaf, maybe." There was no sting in Patrick's words - they had been friends for far too long. "I guess that means you want me to take your guitar as well?" 

"Would you?" 

"Sure. Anything for _Twoo Wuv."_

Charlie grinned as he flipped him the finger and headed back out to the bar. 

Rory had sat down again and was nursing the last inch of his beer. As Charlie approached, he looked up and Charlie felt his heart thump for the third time that evening. He stood by the table and waited. 

Rory got up and led the way as they left the pub and walked down the road to the laneway where he had left the car. The night air was cool and chill, and Charlie was glad of his jacket as the residual warm air from the pub dissipated. The car appeared black in the dull yellow light cast by the streetlamps behind them, and Charlie noticed how quiet it was. He glanced behind them, but no one had followed them out, and the lane was deserted. 

"Rory," he murmured, touching the man on the arm. 

"What is it?" 

Charlie moved closer, wanting to do this but feeling very nervous. "Stand still for a minute." 

"Why?" Rory asked, even as he complied. 

"I want to kiss you," whispered Charlie 

"Not out here!" 

"There's no one to see." He pressed on. "Look, if anyone comes around the corner, I'll stop. I just want to kiss you now, before we do anything else." 

"Why?" 

"Because I want to. Because I don't want this to be just a continuation of last month. I want more. I want to be able to say what I think without worrying about you getting angry. I want to choose what we do sometimes. I want to be equal, Rory, not just a rent-boy." 

"You were never a rent-boy," Rory breathed, barely audible. 

Charlie leaned in, touching his lips to Rory's. They were soft and warm, and though Rory jerked a little at the touch, he didn't pull away. Charlie tilted his head and parted his lips; Rory did the same. They moved slowly over each other's skin, still hesitant, still unsure of what all this might mean. Charlie felt warmth spreading through him, as if he were coming to life, like a tree after winter. His arms crept up over Rory's – not to not to stop him from moving away, just to touch him, feel his warmth, reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming. He slid his tongue into Rory's mouth and nearly groaned at the sensation. He lost track of time, knowing only the touch of Rory's lips on his own, the feel of Rory's chest close to his, Rory's arms sliding up to rest on his own. It seemed to last forever. 

Suddenly he felt Rory pull back, and he looked up. Rory was looking at him as if stunned – as if he couldn't believe what he had done, as if Charlie were some terrible apparition. Maybe I went too far, he told himself. _Maybe he doesn't really want to do this._ He wondered if he should go back to the club, hoping that Pat hadn't already left. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and started to turn away. 

Rory moved then, taking hold of him and spinning him around so that he was the one leaning against the car. Then he found himself being thoroughly kissed, with a passion he'd suspected but never seen. Rory's tongue was deep inside his mouth, tangling with his own, questing and probing, and it was the best kiss Charlie had ever had. 

Rory pulled away again at the sound of a car passing the end of the street, but he didn't let go. Charlie pulled him into a hug and let his lips slide along the delicate skin of Rory's neck, under the ear and into the hairline. He felt Rory relax, and smiled. This was going to work, after all. 

"I missed you," he whispered. 

"I missed you, too." The words were soft enough that he wondered if he'd imagined them, but he tightened his arms a little anyway and pressed his lips to Rory's skin before pulling back just far enough that he could looked into Rory's eyes. For the first time saw that Rory was completely open, and he could read him – all the myriad emotions – the want, the longing, the fear, the despair – all of it. It made Charlie want to hold him and protect him and keep him safe, and hurt him and shout at him for all the slights that he had endured. It made him want to burrow into his clothes and soak up his heat, and at the same time push him away, because he knew – he just knew – that Rory would never really change. He'd always have to fight to get Rory to treat him as an equal, but by all the saints he was going to fight until Rory changed or he died trying. 

Rory's hands slid under his jacket; Charlie could feel their heat through the thin cotton of his shirt. He wriggled as Rory hit a ticklish spot, and they both laughed. Charlie felt almost dizzy with relief and dropped a quick kiss on Rory's lips. 

"It's getting cold. We should go." 

Rory kissed him back, twice, as if he couldn't quite believe it the first time. "Aye." A third kiss followed, then Rory looked him in the eyes. "Er... d'you still want to be dropped off at your parents' place?" 

"Is there another option?" Charlie looked hopeful. 

"Well... if you w-wanted... my place?" 

Charlie nodded. "That would be great." He tightened his arms around Rory and leaned in for another kiss. 

The sound of a car coming around the corner broke them apart again. They looked ruefully at each other as it passed them, and then Rory sighed as he turned and unlocked the car. 

"Come on, let's get going." 

Charlie walked around to the other side and got in. Rory put the key in the ignition but didn't turn it. Looking straight ahead, he said, "You didn't really leave anything behind, you know." 

"I know." 

They looked at each other and smiled, rather sheepishly. Then Rory turned the key and the car sprang to life. 


	19. Epilogue

_Friday 24 September 1999_

It wasn't until they were heading up the stairs to Rory's flat that Charlie started to feel nervous again. What was going to happen? He didn't really know, and that made him a little anxious. He didn't want tonight to be just a continuation of the shagging they'd done in August, when everything had been at Rory's direction. He wanted them to be able to talk to each other, to kiss, to touch and hold each other. He wanted to be able to make suggestions - or decisions - on what they would or wouldn't do. He wanted to be on top occasionally, too, but that could wait. He wanted to be with Rory for a long, long time, and he had a feeling that the man was not going to be easy to live with. It would be wise to take things slowly. 

Rory pushed open the door and stepped back, allowing Charlie to enter first. He walked through into the tiny hallway and paused, looking back at Rory as he closed the door behind them. 

They were standing very close, but Rory didn't move, either to kiss him or to distance himself. He looked puzzled, or nervous – as if he didn't know what to do. Suddenly, Charlie wondered just how experienced Rory was with men. He'd certainly fucked a few, but had he kissed anyone? His reaction to Charlie's kiss outside the pub had been as much shock as anything else. Had that been his very first kiss? Had he ever given a blow job? Had he ever been fucked himself? Charlie had a sudden qualm. He'd got used to Rory being in control, always knowing what to do, and if it turned out that Charlie had to teach Rory how to do everything, he wasn't sure he could cope. 

He bit his lip. Oh well, might as well start now. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Charlie leaned forward and kissed Rory on the lips. It was a gentle kiss, enticing rather than demanding, and Charlie waited patiently until Rory relaxed a little, then he turned his head and opened his mouth. He deepened the kiss, licking Rory's lips, probing just a little with the tip of his tongue. 

He could feel that Rory was shaking, and he pulled back. He opened his eyes and found Rory just looking at him. 

"Was that OK?" he asked. 

Rory nodded, slowly, as if he wasn't sure. 

"Can I do it again?" 

Rory nodded, and Charlie leaned in once more, this time pressing just a little more firmly, probing a little more deeply. He slid an arm around Rory's waist, pulling him closer, so that they were touching from chest to thigh. The other hand went around the back of Rory's head, his fingers ruffling through the short hairs at the nape, and he felt Rory shiver. He kept his touches light, but he couldn't help deepening the kiss. His tongue probed further, licking the insides of Rory's mouth, running over his teeth. Finally, he felt Rory start to respond, to move his own tongue against Charlie's. It felt good - it felt amazingly good, and Charlie's heart skipped a beat as Rory's arms closed around him and it was no longer just Charlie kissing Rory but the two of them sharing a kiss, sharing each other, their tongues swirling and tasting and licking each other. If only he didn't have to breathe, though Charlie, as he pulled back for a moment and sucked in a lungful of air. If only they could stay joined together, blurred and melted into each other for the rest of their lives ... that would be heaven. 

"You want a cup of tea? Or a whisky?" Rory asked, a little gruffly. He was also short of breath, and looked anxious. 

"Whisky – I think we both need it," said Charlie, hoping that the alcohol would calm them both down a little. 

"That we do." They moved into the living room and Rory poured them each a large whisky. Charlie threw half of it down in one go, almost choking as the fumes burnt his throat and lungs. 

"That's no way to treat a whisky," said Rory, scandalised. 

"It is when you're nervous," he coughed. 

"You've no reason to be. I'm ... I'm not going to hurt you. Or throw you out." 

"I know that. It's just that ... this isn't going to be the same as it was before. It's like starting again. Only this time I can't just sit and wait for you to decide what to do." 

"I know." 

"You're nervous, too." 

"No, I'm not." 

"Are, too. But I know a cure for that." Charlie set his glass down, then draped an arm over Rory's shoulder and said, "Take me to bed." 

"You're sure?" 

Charlie nodded. "I want us to get into bed, then I want to kiss you, then I want you to shag me, then I want to kiss you some more. You up for that?" 

Rory smiled, a little relieved, perhaps, that Charlie hadn't asked for more. "I'm up for that." He looked so irresistible that Charlie kissed him again, and it was with a great deal of difficulty that they managed to separate for long enough to get up the stairs. 

Once they were in the bedroom, Rory seemed to get his confidence back. He pushed Charlie up against the wall and kissed him ruthlessly, letting his hands roam under Charlie's shirt, causing Charlie to shiver as fingertips brushed over ticklish spots. 

"Oh," Charlie gave a moan as Rory relinquished his mouth only to kiss a fiery trail down the side of his neck. "That's good, yeah." It was better than good - it was bloody fantastic, and he didn't want to stop. He was hard, and pushed his hips forward, hoping to grind against Rory, but groaning in protest as Rory drew back instead. He reluctantly opened his eyes. 

Rory tugged at his arm. "Bed," he ordered, and Charlie complied, almost falling onto it. He undid the buttons on his shirt and threw it to one side, then reached for his shoes. From the corner of his eye he could see Rory stripping off even faster. It would have been nice to undress each other, he thought, but one thing at a time - if he pushed Rory too hard, he was likely to find himself out in the cold and that would be a disaster. So for now he simply followed Rory's lead and finished undressing as fast as he could, then lying down on the bed. 

Rory looked down at him, desire evident in the gleam of his eye and the heaving of his chest. Charlie reached up an arm and drew him down. 

"We can do this," he said, reassuringly. "I want this. I choose this." 

Rory nodded and steadied himself on his knees and elbows before leaning in and kissing Charlie again. This time the kiss was softer, more tentative. Charlie opened himself up and let Rory explore as he willed, offering no resistance and no reserve. It was a long, long time since he'd spent any time just kissing someone, and it was good to be able to lie back and enjoy it. Rory smelled good, with the subtle hints of citrus and sandalwood enhancing his own unique scent, and Charlie thought he was in sensory heaven. 

Rory gradually lowered himself onto Charlie as the kisses continued, and Charlie felt their erections pressing into each other. He wriggled a little, trying to get them lined up properly, but his cock was not cooperating. He broke off his kiss and slid a hand in between them to adjust their positions. Rory's expression showed his surprise as their cocks lined up and rubbed against each other. 

"Nice, isn't it?" grinned Charlie. "I know lots of other good things to do, you know." 

"Do you now?" 

"Oh, yes, _lots_ of good things." 

"Maybe you'd better show me something good, then." 

"Mmm, maybe I should." With that, Charlie reached between them again and slowly started to move his hand up and down both their cocks. 

Rory shuddered. "Any more of that and I'll be coming all over you." 

Charlie's breath hitched. "Want that. Want you to come all over me, splatter me with your come. Come on my stomach, on my chest, on my face. I want that." 

"Fuck!" Rory exclaimed and pulled back in a hurry. He looked shocked, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. His cock, Charlie was interested to note, was hard and red and weeping, and it drew a smile from him. He loved knowing that he could affect Rory so deeply. 

"I think you like it when I talk dirty." 

Rory sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. "Aye," he admitted. "Too much. Don’t want to come too soon." 

"Well, get that lube out of the drawer and fuck me, and then I'll talk dirty to you until you're hard again." 

Rory closed his eyes for a moment, as if he had to concentrate on not coming right there and then, then reached into the bedside drawer and took out lube and condoms. 

Charlie looked at the little packets and wondered if he should suggest that they both get tested. It would be fantastic to be able to fuck without condoms ... but on second thoughts, it might be a bit much for Rory to cope with at the moment. He'd see how things worked out over the next couple of weeks, and then maybe suggest it casually and see what Rory's response would be. 

In the meantime, Rory's condom-covered cock was in sight, and Rory's lube-covered fingers were easing their way into his body, and that felt just perfect. He smiled in encouragement, and opened his legs a little further so that Rory had full access. 

"Come on, then. Fuck me." 

Rory withdrew his fingers and put some lube over the condom. "Are you going to turn over?" 

"No. I want to see you. I want to see your face while you're inside me. I want to see you come." 

Rory swallowed, and Charlie reached up to kiss him. 

"Don't hold back. Want you hard and deep." 

Rory groaned and pushed in, slowly. Charlie pulled his thighs back, allowing Rory to plunge deep. "Oh, that's good," he breathed. "Move. I want to feel you move." 

Rory moved, and Charlie soon had no breath to talk, he was simply grunting as his whole body was plundered. Thrust after thrust caught him just where he wanted it, pushing him closer to the edge. He saw the green of Rory's eyes deepen, and ran his hands over his lover's back, reaching down to grasp his buttocks and pull him in even deeper. 

"Mmm, good, that’s good," he managed to get out. Rory simply nodded agreement, and, far sooner than he expected, he felt Rory's buttocks clench and his body go rigid as he climaxed. 

Charlie felt a moment's regret that he hadn't come himself, but after only a few seconds Rory relaxed and opened his eyes. Charlie had no idea what Rory saw, but he glanced down and Charlie's still-evident erection and took hold of it. 

"Like this?" Rory asked, and Charlie just nodded. Then Rory was kissing him and wanking him at the same time, and it felt bloody fantastic and very soon he was crying out and shooting all over Rory's hand and stomach. 

He opened his eyes and saw Rory looking down at him, his expression hard to read, but not closed off like it had been those times before. Charlie lifted his hand - Christ, but that was difficult, he felt so weak - and stroked Rory's cheek. That earned him another kiss, and they gradually shifted positions so that Rory was on his back and Charlie was draped over him. Rory didn't seem to mind, and Charlie decided he was going to take advantage of every opportunity to touch and hold and cuddle unless specifically told not to. So he nuzzled his face against Rory's chest, feeling the slight not-quite-scratchiness of chest hair, and hoped that this was just the first of many, many nights with his lover. 

**THE END**


End file.
